A  TALE  OF  THE  GRAND  CANON 


KATHARIJNTE.        SHARP 


— 

/,<=" 


JOCELYN  WEST 

A  Tale  of 
THE  GRAND  CANON 


.  OP  CALIF.  LIBBARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


Jocelyn  West 

A  Tale  of 

The  Grand  Canon 


By 
KATHARINE  SHARP 


NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

THE  GOODHUE  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1912,  by 
THE  GOODHUE  COMPANY 


All  Bights  Reserved 


TO 
HELEN 


2132698 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  JOCELYN  WEST 9 

II.  SENORA  MADERO 27 

III.  THE  BONDAGE  OF  THE  LAW 43 

IV.  THE  TYRANNY  OF  CONVENTION 51 

V.  A  DAY  WITH  THE  SPANIARDS 61 

VI.  THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  PURITANS    .    .    .    .    71 
VII.  JOCELYN  IN  QUEST  OF  LIBERTY      ....    84 

VIII.  WHOM  GOD  HATH  JOINED 94 

IX.  THE  FINISHED  CHAPTER 104 

X.  THE  SPELL  OF  THE  CANON in 

XI.  JOCELYN'S  CAVE 131 

XII.  SUNSET  AND  EVENING  STAR 148 

XIII.  NATURA  AND  PRIMITIVO 156 

XIV.  ASPERA  AND  INTELLECTO 165 

XV.  PRESCOTT'S  VIGIL 174 

XVI.  THE  DAWN  .  ...  182 


[7] 


JOCELYN  WEST 


CHAPTER  I 

JOCELYN  WEST 

"As  you  seem  to  enjoy  my  dancing,  perhaps 
you  would  like  to  be  shown  how  high  I  can  kick." 

The  suggestion  was  made  with  the  appearance 
of  utter  naivete,  and  with  a  note  of  interrogation. 

The  response  was  a  burst  of  applause,  and  a 
chorus  of  "Bravos"  from  every  part  of  the  draw- 
ing-room. Some  of  the  women  gasped  a  little, 
but  even  they  for  the  most  part  clapped  their 
hands  in  seeming  approval. 

"Ah,  you  wish  to  be  shown?  Then  will  some 
gentleman  kindly  hold  a  cap." 

At  least  a  dozen  gentlemen  responded  with 
alacrity. 

"One  will  do.  Yours,  if  you  please,"  smiled 
the  dancer,  indicating  the  tallest  of  the  expectant 
gallants. 

[91 


JOCELYN  WEST 

"Hold  it  high.  Oh,  much  higher.  As  high  as 
you  can  reach." 

The  smiling  young  woman  poised  gracefully, 
fixed  her  luminous  gray  eyes  on  the  cap,  and 
swung  her  body  about  as  if  to  gain  impetus.  She 
seemed  to  hesitate  a  moment,  brought  her  right 
foot  back  as  if  on  the  verge  of  darting  it 
high  in  the  air;  then  she  paused  as  if  in  doubt, 
stepped  back,  viewed  the  cap  critically  from  a 
new  angle,  and,  relaxing  every  muscle,  shrugged 
her  shoulders. 

"Do  you  really  wish  me  to  show  you?"  she 
asked  quizzically,  drawling  the  words  in  a  deli- 
cious mezzo  voice.  "Well,  I  said  I  would  show 
you,  and  I  will." 

She  leaned  forward,  extended  her  right  hand 
slowly  at  about  the  level  of  her  waist,  and  re- 
garded it  critically. 

"I  suppose  I  could  kick  about  that  high,"  she 
drawled. 

Then  she  threw  her  head  back,  displaying  a 
splendid  set  of  teeth;  and  burst  into  a  laugh,  in 
which  the  entire  audience  joined  her. 

The  holder  of   the   cap   muttered   something 
probably  not  expressive   of  pleasure.    But   his 
words  were  lost  in  the  storm  of  applause,  and  the 
[10] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

cries  of  "Bravo,"  "Another  dance,"  with  which 
the  room  resounded. 

"Please,  Miss  West,  please;  dance  just  once 
more,"  pleaded  the  Master  of  Ceremonies,  com- 
ing close  beside  her. 

"If  they  wish  it,  of  course." 

The  reply  was  made  nonchalantly.  The  girl's 
eyes  swept  the  audience  casually.  Her  manner 
was  reserved,  with  a  touch  of  hauteur.  Despite 
the  unconventional  character  of  her  share  in  the 
entertainment,  she  herself  seemed,  when  in  re- 
pose, to  represent  a  type  of  high-bred  convention- 
ality. She  was  gowned  modishly  but  simply, 
and  there  was  nothing  in  the  remotest  degree 
theatrical  about  her  appearance.  Indeed,  there 
seemed  a  distinct  incongruity  in  her  presence  as 
a  participant  even  in  this  amateur  performance 
in  behalf  of  invalid  seamen. 

And  as  to  the  dare-devil  jest  she  had  just  per- 
petrated, that  seemed  utterly  out  of  keeping  with 
her  personality.  Possibly  she  herself  regretted  it 
almost  before  it  was  performed,  for  an  added  tint 
of  crimson  appeared  now  to  rise  to  cheeks  already 
flushed  from  the  exertion  of  the  dance;  and  the 
girlish  face  took  on  an  aspect  of  utter  seriousness. 

In  point  of  fact,  the  young  woman  had  not 
[11] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

considered  the  general  audience  at  all  in  her  act 
of  bravado.  She  had  been  moved  by  a  sudden  im- 
pulse to  call  out  something  that  a  certain  auditor 
might  hear;  and,  on  the  instant,  she  could  think 
of  nothing  to  say  until  the  bizarre  and  impish 
proposal  of  the  kick  flashed  into  her  mind.  Her 
sole  thought  had  been  of  the  possible  effect  of  her 
performance  on  this  one  auditor.  For  reasons  of 
her  own,  she  had  wished  to  let  him  hear  her 
voice. 

The  auditor  in  question  was  a  tall,  well-built 
man,  with  a  grave,  rather  stern  face,  who  had 
entered  the  room  a  few  moments  before,  and  who, 
pausing  by  the  door,  now  regarded  the  dancer 
with  fixed  attention. 

The  face  and  figure  of  the  man  had  caught  the 
eye  of  the  young  woman  the  instant  he  entered 
the  room;  and  she  regarded  him  now  over  the 
heads  of  the  audience,  as  she  poised  her  body  for 
the  dance.  She  kept  her  glance  riveted  on  the 
grave,  ascetic-seeming  face  as  she  began  swaying 
slowly,  this  way  and  that,  in  the  sinuous  and  allur- 
ing contortions  of  the  Spanish  Tarantella.  Nor 
did  she  look  elsewhere  till  she  had  assured  herself 
that  the  deep-set  eyes  of  the  man  glowed  with  a 
responsive  light,  and  that  he  was  regarding  her 
[12] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

with  hypnotic  intentness.  After  that,  as  she  went 
on  with  the  dance,  her  eyes  sought  every  part  of 
the  room  except  that  where  the  tall  man  stood; 
every  face  but  his. 

But  his  eyes  sought  no  goal  save  the  face  of  the 
dancer. 

If  you  chanced  to  see  Carmencita  dance  in  the 
old  days,  you  know  what  the  Spanish  Taran- 
tella is  like.  Jocelyn  West — for  so  the  dancer 
was  named  on  the  program — did  not  dance  it, 
perhaps,  with  quite  the  aplomb  of  that  mistress 
of  the  art,  but  she  gave  a  very  colorable  imitation 
of  her  method,  and  added  a  witchery  of  move- 
ment, gesture,  and  facial  expression  that  were  all 
her  own.  Every  movement  was  graceful,  rhyth- 
mic, compelling. 

The  lithe,  gracile  body  surged  back  and  forth 
with  a  sinuous  motion  which  had  no  suspicion  of 
unmaidenly  suggestiveness,  yet  which  stirre'd  the 
blood  of  every  man  in  the  audience,  and  excited 
a  pang  of  jealousy  in  the  heart  of  every  woman. 

Then  of  a  sudden  the  dancer  paused,  glided 
swiftly  forward  with  a  quick  and  emphatic  stamp 
of  her  foot  that  sent  an  electric  thrill  through  the 
audience;  darted  back  again,  swaying  as  if  about 
to  fall,  and  disappeared  behind  a  large  screen. 

[13] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

Again  the  room  was  in  a  turmoil  of  applause. 
But  the  dancer  neither  heard  nor  heeded  it. 
Through  a  crevice  in  the  screen,  she  regarded  only 
one  face,  one  figure.  Herself  unseen,  she  scru- 
tinized the  face  of  the  big  man  by  the  door,  and 
noted  his  every  expression  with  earnest  attention. 

The  man  was  standing  exactly  as  he  had  stood 
when  she  first  saw  him.  He  had  seemingly  not 
moved  a  muscle.  Even  his  face  had  not  relaxed 
from  its  expression  of  thoughtful  gravity.  He 
had  only  turned  his  eyes  slightly  toward  the 
screen  behind  which  the  dancer  had  vanished, 
and  from  the  vantage  ground  of  which  she  now 
scrutinized  him.  He  alone  of  all  the  assembly 
did  not  applaud.  Yet  the  girl  had  danced  to 
him,  for  him,  alone. 

Had  her  shaft  missed  its  mark? 

Instinct  told  her  that  it  had  not,  and  her  stolen 
glance  through  the  crevice  in  the  screen  con- 
firmed her  instinct. 

The  man's  fixed  glance,  the  very  pose  of  his 
head,  the  motionlessness  of  his  poise,  were  all 
evidence  that  his  heart  gave  her  silent  applause. 

She  felt  it,  knew  it,  and  was  content. 

A  few  moments  later,  as  the  company  was  dis- 
persing to  various  parts  of  the  ship— for  the  scene 

[14] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

of  the  episode  was  the  concert-room  of  the 
Mauretania — the  tall  man  made  his  way  toward 
the  improvised  stage  by  the  piano,  where  the 
dancer  was  the  center  of  a  congratulatory  group 
of  men  and  women. 

He  touched  the  arm  of  the  Master  of 
Ceremonies.  "Introduce  me  to  Miss  West,  old 
man." 

"Oh,  confound  you,  Knight.  Please  keep 
away,"  laughed  the  other  in  an  undertone. 
"What  chance  shall  I  have  if  you  enter  the 
field?  However,  I  suppose  I  may  as  well  submit." 

They  came  forward  together. 

"Miss  West,  let  me  present  my  old  college 
friend,  Mr.  Prescott  Knight." 

The  girl  greeted  him  casually,  and  for  a  few 
minutes  the  conversation  was  general.  But  pres- 
ently someone  suggested  that  a  stroll  on  the  deck 
would  be  in  order.  As  they  filed  out,  Knight  was 
at  Miss  West's  side.  The  two  were  presently 
separated  from  the  others,  and  standing  by  the 
rail,  looking  off  across  the  water. 

Nothing  beyond  the  most  banal  conventional- 
ities had  been  exchanged  between  them;  but  now 
she  looked  up  at  him  piquantly,  and  they  both 
laughed  with  seeming  understanding. 

[15] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

"I  owe  you  a  profound  apology,  Mr.  Knight," 
she  said,  becoming  suddenly  grave.  "It  was 
really  very  shocking  for  me  to  have  played  such 
a  prank;  but  what  is  one  to  do  to  pass  the  time 
on  shipboard?" 

The  "prank"  of  which  the  girl  spoke  had  no 
connection  with  the  episode  of  the  dance.  It 
referred  to  an  incident  of  the  afternoon,  when 
Knight  had  spoken  to  the  young  woman  as  they 
chanced  to  stand  side  by  side,  watching  a  game 
of  shuffleboard.  Knight  had  made  a  casual  re- 
mark, to  which  the  girl  had  responded  by  smiling 
up  at  him  hi  the  most  naive  and  winning  way,  and 
saying,  in  a  quaint,  broken  dialect:  "I  no  es-speak 
Ingleesh,  Senor." 

The  words,  manner,  and  intonation  had  fas- 
cinated Knight,  and  he  had  at  once  set  himself 
the  task  of  teaching  the  young  woman  some 
English  words  and  phrases.  She  had  proved  the 
most  charming  of  pupils,  with  all  the  innocent 
coquetry  and  naivete  of  a  Spanish  girl  who  had 
not  mingled  with  the  world.  She  had  told  him 
the  Spanish  equivalent  of  the  words  in  turn,  and 
between  his  smattering  of  Spanish,  her  appar- 
ently slight  knowledge  of  English,  and  a  liberal 
use  of  French,  they  had  managed  to  make  them- 
[16] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

selves  understood  fairly  well.  So  at  least  he  had 
supposed. 

He  had  been  informed  that  her  name  was 
Senora  Madero,  that  her  husband  was  in  Mexico; 
that  she  expected  to  remain  for  some  time  in 
New  York,  before  going  on  to  the  West. 

Judge,  then,  of  the  man's  astonishment  when 
he  had  strolled,  quite  by  accident,  into  the  con- 
cert-room of  the  ship,  searching  for  the  senora; 
and  had  found  her  there,  calling  out  in  perfect 
English  without  a  trace  of  accent. 

It  had  instantly  been  made  obvious  to  Knight 
that  the  girl  had  been  amusing  herself  by  playing 
a  part  in  the  mock  English  lesson  of  the  afternoon. 
But,  rather  strangely,  he  did  not  feel  piqued  by 
the  discovery,  though  he  was  not  a  man  with 
whom  people  often  took  liberties.  On  the  con- 
trary, he  felt  a  sense  of  relief,  of  positive  pleasure, 
at  thus  learning  that  the  girl  was  not  Spanish 
after  all,  but  quite  obviously  an  American. 

A  glance  at  the  concert  -program  had  told  him 
that  her  name  was  Jocelyn  West,  and  he  had 
experienced  a  distinct  sense  of  satisfaction  on 
discovering  that  the  prefix  was  not  Senora,  but 
Miss. 

So  now,  as  he  looked  down  at  her  as  they  stood 
2  [17] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

by  the  rail  together,  he  felt  neither  embarrass- 
ment nor  chagrin.  He  was  conscious  only  that 
she  was  very  charming,  and  that  her  voice,  as 
she  spoke  naturally,  had  the  same  resonant  quality 
that  it  had  shown  when  she  had  spoken  the  make- 
believe  Spanish-English  of  the  afternoon. 

"I  am  evidently  a  most  extraordinary  teacher," 
he  said,  smiling. 

"Or  perhaps  you  had  a  very  apt  pupil." 

"That  I  do  not  doubt.  Suppose  we  have  an- 
other lesson.  I  will  tell  you  the  name  of  that 
bright  object  up  there  in  the  sky." 

"Ah,  la  lima!" 

"Doubtless.  In  English  we  call  it  the  moon. 
Let  us  go  up  on  the  upper  deck,  where  we  can 
see  it  better." 

On  the  upper  deck  the  two  were  presently  en- 
sconced in  steamer-chairs  in  a  snug  corner. 

"Now,  as  reparation  for  the  joke  you  played 
on  me,  you  must  tell  me  all  about  yourself." 

"It  is  a  short  story,  and  of  no  possible  inter- 
est," she  replied  evasively.  "But  your  story 
must  be  full  of  incident.  Where  have  you  been 
this  trip?  I  think  I  can  guess.  You  have  been 
to  Thibet  in  quest  of  the  Oms  poll — Marco  Polo's 
sheep." 

[18] 


He  regarded  her  curiously. 

"T&uchc"  he  said.     "How  did  you  do  it?" 

The  girl  laughed.  She  had  really  gained  her 
information  from  the  captain,  who  chanced  to  be 
familiar  with  Knight's  exploits.  She  sat  at  the 
captain's  right.  That  genial  person  had  amiably 
responded  to  her  interrogations. 

She  now  chose,  however,  to  make  the  matter 
more  mysterious,  so  in  reply  to  Knight's  query 
she  glanced  up  archly,  and  said  with  a  knowing 
air: 

"Oh,  I  have  a  woman's  knack  of  guessing 
secrets." 

"Have  you  also  the  unwomanly  knack  of 
keeping  them?" 

"Try  me." 

"Well,  I  will.  It  isn't  such  a  dreadful  secret, 
to  be  sure,  but  at  least  it  is  something  no  one  has 
been  told,  and " 

She  checked  him  with  a  gesture. 

"No,  please  don't  tell  it,"  she  said  earnestly. 
"I  have  no  right  to  hear  your  secrets.  You  know 
things  have  a  way  of  leaking  out,  and  you  might 
think  that  I  betrayed  your  confidence." 

"That  is  my  lookout.  I  want  to  tell  you  this 
secret.  Besides,  it  concerns  you,  and  you  are  en- 

[19] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

titled  to  have  it.  It  is  this:  I  have  decided  that 
you  are  very  much  worth  while,  and  that  we  are 
destined  to  become  great  friends." 

"Oh,"  she  gasped,  taken  quite  by  surprise. 
"Is  that  what  you  call  a  secret?  Well,  as  it  is 
a  secret,  you  must  let  no  one  find  it  out.  But 
I  will  tell  you  quite  frankly  that  I  hope  your 
prediction  about  our  friendship  may  prove 
true." 

"It  is  a  trite  suggestion,  but  suppose  we  shake 
hands  on  it." 

She  put  out  her  hand  and  took  his,  as  one 
man  might  clasp  the  hand  of  another.  He  noted 
that  her  hand  was  soft  and  warm,  yet  with 
sinewy  strength  beyond  what  its  suppleness 
might  suggest.  He  held  it  for  an  instant  only, 
resisting  an  impulse  to  raise  it  to  his  lips. 

"That  being  settled,"  he  said,  "tell  me  how 
you  learned  Spanish — including  the  dance!" 

"Not  to-night,  please.  We  came  up  to  talk 
about  the  moon,  you  remember,  not  about  me. 
The  moon  is  much  more  worth  while.  See  how 
she  soars  among  the  clouds.  What  is  it  Shelley 
calls  her?  'That  orbed  maiden  with  white  light 
laden.'" 

"Suppose  we  take  the  moon  for  granted,"  he 
[20] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

said,  laughing.  "  I  see  that  you  know  all  about  it. 
And  since  you  refuse  to  talk  about  yourself,  let  us 
trade  biographies.  That's  fair,  isn't  it?" 

"Then  you  begin." 

"Very  well.  I  am  a  New  Yorker,  age  thirty- 
four;  Harvard  '96.  I  have  lived  on  a  ranch  in 
the  West;  have  hunted  big  game  almost  every- 
where, including  the  Bad  Lands  of  the  North, 
and  in  the  heart  of  Africa;  play  polo  and  hand- 
ball, and  my  pet  recreation  is  boxing." 

"I  knew  it,"  she  said  with  enthusiasm.  "I 
knew  you  were  an  athlete  from  the  way  you 
moved  about.  Oh,  I  should  love  to  see  you  in 
action." 

"Some  day  you  shall  have  that  great  priv- 
ilege," he  laughed.  "Meantime,  you  have  the 
platform." 

She  looked  at  him  amusedly.  "But  supposing 
I  do  not  wish  to  declaim?" 

"A  bargain  is  a  bargain." 

"I  made  no  bargain.  However,  I  am  quite 
willing  to  take  you  into  my  confidence.  I  was 
born  in  California.  I  am  twenty-two  years  old. 
I  was  educated  hi  a  boarding-school.  I  spent 
two  years  or  so  on  a  ranch  with  my  brother  in 
Mexico,  where  I  learned  Spanish.  I  can  shoot  a 

[21] 


little.  I  have  killed  antelope,  deer,  and  one  bear. 
And  I  can  ride  a  horse." 

"Splendid,"  he  cried.  "I  told  you  we  should 
be  friends.  We  will  begin  by  riding  together  at 
Meadow  Brook,  after  we  get  home.  Meantime, 
I  am  anxious  to  hear  what  led  you  to  tell  me  you 
were  Sefiora  Madero.  Why  Senora?" 

"Perhaps  it  is  true." 

"But  the  concert  program  tells  me  better." 

"Perhaps  I  thought  it  impertinent  of  you  to 
speak  to  me  without  an  introduction." 

"It  was.  But  you  didn't  seem  to  resent  the 
impertinence." 

"Oh!  I  liked  it.  I  only  resented  the  fact  that 
you  had  waited  till  about  the  last  day  of  the 
voyage.  For  I  saw  you  when  you  came  on  the 
boat,  and  wanted  to  get  acquainted  with  you  at 
once.  You  were  such  a  big,  robust  specimen  that 
you  interested  me." 

"The  deuce  I  did.  Then  you  had  a  queer  way 
of  showing  it;  for  you  fled  every  time  I  came 
within  speaking  distance,  or  else  buried  your  face 
in  a  book.  Not  knowing  that  we  had  mutual 
acquaintances  on  board,  I  have  devoted  this  en- 
tire trip  to  the  effort  to  corner  you  where  I  could 
get  some  colorable  pretext  for  speaking  to  you, 

[22] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

and  I  never  got  within  a  mile  of  the  mark  until 
this  afternoon." 

The  girl  laughed. 

"You  must  imagine  things,"  she  said.  "You 
don't  look  like  a  person  who  would  stand  on  cere- 
mony long  if  you  wanted  to  speak  to  anyone.  I 
don't  believe  you'd  hesitate  to  walk  up  to  the 
King  of  England  and  slap  him  on  the  shoulder. 
You'd  frighten  the  poor  chap,  though,  if  you  did, 
you  are  such  a  huge  person.  By  the  way,  how 
tall  are  you?  And  what  is  your  weight?" 

"Not  to  be  diverted  so  easily,  Lady  Sherlock," 
he  laughed.  "I  stand  six  feet  in  my  stockings, 
and  classify  as  a  heavy-weight,  if  you  wish  to 
know.  But  the  point  at  issue  is,  why  did  you 
tell  me  you  were  Senora  Madero — Senora 
anybody?" 

"How  does  one  account  for  the  whim  of  a 
moment — and  on  shipboard,  at  that?  I  saw  a 
chance  to  have  a  little  diversion.  Why  should  you 
complain?  Didn't  we  have  an  interesting  lesson?  " 

"A  fascinating  lesson.  But  what  puzzles  me 
is  that  I  find  the  name  of  Senora  Madero  on  the 
passenger  list.  You  are  not  she,  that  is  obvious 
enough;  but  who  is  she,  and  why  did  you  take 
her  name?" 

[231 


JOCELYN  WEST 

"Haven't  you  noticed  that  I  have  a  traveling 
companion?  And  could  you  not  see  that  she  is 
Spanish?  Anyone  can  see  that.  What  is  more 
natural  than  that  I  should  assume  her  name 
when  I  wished  to  have  a  little  flirtation  with  a 
strange  gentleman?  It  was  really  a  good  joke, 
was  it  not?" 

Her  teeth  showed  white  in  the  moonlight,  her 
eyes  sparkled,  and  she  laughed  in  the  merriest, 
most  infectious  vein. 

"But  mind  you,"  she  continued,  after  a  mo- 
ment, becoming  suddenly  serious,  "I  shall  be 
obliged  to  answer  for  what  I  have  done.  The 
Senora  has  Spanish  notions,  and  she  will  take  me 
to  task  most  severely,  I  assure  you. 

"  It  is  bad  enough  that  I  talked  with  you  this 
afternoon.  But  the  episode  of  the  cap  at  the 
concert  was  worse.  And  if  she  learns  that  I 
have  sat  up  here  alone  with  you  this  evening,  she 
will  be  scandalized." 

Again  she  laughed,  but  now  there  was  less  of 
merriment  in  her  tones. 

The  recital  had  been  made  with  child-like  sim- 
plicity and  frankness.  As  Knight  regarded  the 
girl,  her  face  seemed  to  belie  the  twenty-two 
years  to  which  she  had  laid  claim.  In  the  half- 

[24] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

light  of  the  moon,  she  seemed  rather  a  girl  of 
seventeen;  a  roguish  school-girl,  fond  of  a  frolic, 
but  shielded  by  the  mantle  of  her  unsophis- 
ticated innocence. 

"The  Senora  can't  get  used  to  American  ways, 
then?"  he  said  presently. 

"They  horrify  her.  And  that  reminds  me,  she 
will  be  organizing  a  search  for  me  if  I  do  not  put 
in  an  appearance.  Let  us  go  down." 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  before  he  could  offer  to 
help  her.  He  mentally  likened  her  quick,  agile 
movement  to  the  action  of  a  deer. 

He  regarded  her  lithe,  active  figure  with  the 
eye  of  a  connoisseur,  as  she  glided,  rather  than 
walked,  before  him. 

"She's  a  thoroughbred,"  was  his  mental  com- 
ment. But  indeed  the  girl's  refinement  and  dis- 
tinction of  manner  were  patent  to  the  least  ob- 
servant. It  was  the  very  sureness  of  her  social 
poise  that  made  it  possible  for  her,  on  occasion, 
to  depart  from  the  conventionalities,  as  she  had 
done  in  her  first  interview  with  Knight,  and  in  the 
episode  of  the  dance. 

At  the  elevator  door  she  turned  and  put  out 
her  hand  with  the  quick,  impulsive  movement 
that  he  had  found  so  fascinating. 

[25] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

"Good-night.  I  hope  I  shall  see  you  again 
before  the  boat  lands." 

"Good-night,  Senora" — with  bantering  em- 
phasis on  the  last  word.  "I  will  look  for  you  on 
deck  after  breakfast." 

Half  an  hour  later,  as  Prescott  Knight  was 
retiring,  he  viewed  his  face  in  the  mirror,  and 
paused  to  regard  himself  rather  curiously.  "Pres- 
cott," he  said  presently,  "you  are  a  large  and 
healthy  person,  and  not  without  certain  glimmer- 
ings of  intelligence.  But  I  see  symptoms  that 
tell  me  you  are  about  to  make  a  fool  of  yourself 
over  a  little  morsel  of  a  girl  with  a  lithe  and 
graceful  figure,  and  a  pair  of  remarkable  gray 
eyes." 

Meantime,  could  he  have  known  it,  the  "little 
morsel  of  a  girl"  had  thrown  herself  on  the  bed 
in  the  cabin,  the  lithe  figure  convulsed  with  sobs, 
and  the  gray  eyes  dimmed  with  tears. 


[261 


CHAPTER  II 

SENORA  MADERO 

Prescott  Knight  breakfasted  early  next  morn- 
ing, and  began  strolling  about  the  deck.  He  felt 
rather  confident  that  his  companion  of  the  eve- 
ning before  would  appear  at  a  reasonable  hour. 
He  had  come  to  have  a  feeling  of  comradeship 
with  the  girl  in  the  course  of  the  short  acquaint- 
ance, and  he  entertained  no  doubt  that  she 
would  meet  him  half-way  in  making  the  most  of 
the  opportunities  offered  by  this  last  day  of  the 
voyage.  He  frankly  admitted  to  himself  that  he 
was  impatient  to  see  her. 

He  tried  to  pass  the  time  by  watching  the 
gulls,  even  attempting  to  count  them;  but  he 
found  himself  constantly  turning  his  eyes  toward 
the  cabin  door,  and  scrutinizing  each  person  that 
came  along  the  deck. 

But  the  object  of  his  interest  did  not  appear. 
Miss  West  had  apparently  overslept,  or,  for  some 
other  reason,  chose  not  to  come  on  deck.  Hour 

[27] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

after  hour  passed,  and  still  Knight  paced  the 
deck  by  himself,  his  impatience  giving  place  pres- 
ently to  surprise,  and  even  to  solicitude. 

He  was  a  man  particularly  prone  to  analyze 
his  own  propensities  with  entire  candor.  The 
feelings  that  he  now  found  himself  experiencing 
came  in  the  nature  of  a  self-revelation.  At 
thirty-four  a  man  who  has  seen  much  of  the 
world,  and  mingled  freely  with  the  men  and  women 
of  various  nations,  does  not  often  find  himself 
suddenly  interested  to  the  point  of  absorption 
in  a  chance  traveling  acquaintance.  One  week 
earlier,  Knight  would  have  repudiated  the  notion 
that  he  could  by  any  chance  be  caught  hi  the  net 
of  any  personality  whatsoever. 

Yet  from  the  moment  he  had  first  set  his  eyes 
on  the  young  woman,  whose  coming  he  now 
awaited  so  impatiently,  he  had  felt  a  strange  wish 
to  know  her,  and  the  two  short  conversations  he 
had  with  her  had  raised  the  inclination  for  her 
companionship  to  a  compelling  desire. 

Knight  was  a  student  of  books  as  well  as  of  men; 
a  practical  and  successful  man  of  affairs;  a 
thoroughgoing  rationalist,  yet  withal  an  idealist. 
He  was  an  egoist  of  the  tolerant  type,  disposed  to 
regret  what  seemed  to  him  the  under-development 

[28] 


SENORA  MADERO 

of  the  chief  mass  of  his  fellow  mortals;  yet  in- 
dulgent toward  their  foibles.  He  called  himself 
a  materialist,  yet  he  was  at  heart  a  sentimentalist. 
But  even  his  sentiment  was  analytical,  and  as  he 
strolled  the  deck  this  morning,  he  asked  himself 
whether  it  did  not  seem  probable  that  the  romance 
of  his  life  had  just  begun. 

In  any  event,  he  felt  an  exaltation  of  mood  that 
he  had  not  for  years  experienced.  And  the  cause 
of  this  exhilaration  was,  beyond  question,  the 
recollection  of  the  face,  figure,  and  personality  of 
the  little  gray-eyed  girl,  who  now,  to  his  very 
great  regret,  was  absenting  herself  from  his 
view. 

As  frequently  happened,  his  emotionalism 
tended  to  take  a  lyrical  form,  but  the  exact  na- 
ture of  its  expression  was  different  from  what 
might  have  been  expected.  It  was  characteristic, 
however,  of  the  unusual  temperament  of  the  man 
himself.  He  was  a  lover  of  Nature  in  her  every 
form;  in  particular,  of  wild  creatures  of  every 
type.  And  now  as  he  stood  watching  the  gulls, 
he  found  himself  formulating  in  metrical  periods 
the  thoughts  they  inspired. 

As  giving  an  insight  into  the  character  of  the 
man,  it  is,  perhaps,  worth  while  to  transcribe  the 

[29] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

verses  here,  though  the  writer  himself  would  have 
been  the  last  to  seek  for  them  such  publicity. 

SEA-GULLS 

"They  float  and  soar  on  deftly  balanced  wings: 
Their  eyes  search  eagerly  the  foaming  tides 
That  flow  in  crested  billows  from  the  sides 
Of  the  great  ship.    They  seek  such  offerings 
As  from  its  maw  the  ocean-monster  flings. 
Following  a  craft  that  ever  onward  glides, 
They  ask  not  whence  it  comes  nor  where  abides — 
They  only  care  that  store  of  food  it  brings. 

"On  every  side  the  purple  billows  dance — 

They  heed  them  not.    In  plumes  of  crested  spray 
The  myriad  diamonds  of  the  rainbow  glance, 

By  them  unseen.    Fleecy  and  gray 
Float  clouds  of  witching  forms  in  azure  skies — 
For  such  mysterious  things  they  have  no  eyes. 

"Move  we  thus  blindly  o'er  the  sea  of  life, 
O  voyagers  that  watch  with  dubious  eyes 
The  sea-gull's  flight?    Shunning  the  good  that  lies 
Ever  about  us — where  turmoil  is  rife, 
'Midst  a  mad  vortex  of  discordant  strife 
Unmeaning  as  the  sea-gull's  raucous  cries — 
Must  we  pursue  our  doubtful  enterprise 
Unfeeling — warring  ever  to  the  knife? 
[30] 


SENORA  MADERO 

"  Challenge  thy  soul  with  questionings  such  as  these, 
O  voyager  that  scorns  the  sea-gull's  greed. 
Thou  mayst  not  pierce  the  barriers  fate  decreed 
Must  ever  shroud  the  eternal  mysteries; 
But  thou  canst  see  the  rainbow-tinted  skies; 
Thou  canst  look  upward,  and  aspire  to  rise." 

When  the  verses  were  completed,  the  writer 
thrust  them  into  his  pocket  and  probably  never 
thought  of  them  again.  As  time  wore  on,  he  at- 
tempted further  to  divert  his  thoughts  by  read- 
ing a  book;  but  the  experiment  proved  futile. 
The  printed  page  could  not  hold  his  attention; 
he  had  thoughts  for  a  certain  young  woman,  and 
for  no  other  subject. 

For  a  time  he  half  expected  a  message  from  the 
young  woman  herself,  explaining  her  absence. 
But  he  reflected  presently  that  she  had  not  said 
she  would  meet  him  on  the  deck. 

He  recalled  her  exact  words  in  parting,  and 
was  obliged  to  admit  that  they  implied  nothing 
beyond  an  almost  formal  and  altogether  con- 
ventional expression  of  the  hope  that  they  might 
meet  again  before  the  voyage  ended.  The  sug- 
gestion that  they  meet  on  the  deck  after  breakfast 
had  come  from  him;  and,  as  he  now  recalled,  had. 
met  with  no  response  from  his  companion. 

[31] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

Yet,  on  the  other  hand,  her  frank  friendliness 
had  suggested  a  willingness  to  see  him;  she  had 
warmly  seconded  his  prediction  that  they  should 
be  good  friends. 

But  had  she  not  evaded  him  throughout  the 
voyage  until  yesterday?  Of  that  there  could  be 
no  doubt.  Apparently,  then,  she  had  repented  of 
her  momentary  complaisance,  and,  for  some  reason 
best  known  to  herself,  had  reverted  to  her  pre- 
vious attitude  of  mind. 

The  conviction  that  such  was  the  case  grew 
upon  him  as  the  day  lengthened,  and  it  seemed  a 
certainty  when  finally  evening  came  without  his 
having  had  a  glimpse  of  the  only  person  on  the 
ship  who  in  the  least  interested  him. 

The  day  had  been  passed  very  differently 
from  what  he  had  anticipated,  and  Knight 
confessed  to  himself  a  disappointment  that 
seemed  quite  out  of  proportion  to  its  cause, 
considering  that  he  had,  within  twenty-four 
hours,  spoken  for  the  first  time  to  a  girl  who 
now  filled  his  thoughts,  and  had  talked  with 
her  for  not  more  than  a  couple  of  hours.  But 
he  was,  as  has  been  said,  a  man  who  had  culti- 
vated the  rather  unusual  habit  of  being  frankly 
honest  with  himself;  and  he  did  not  now  at- 

[32] 


tempt  to  conceal  from  himself,  or  explain  away, 
his  disappointment. 

The  matter  was  made  the  more  exasperating 
by  the  fact  that  he  could  think  of  no  reasonable 
explanation  of  the  girl's  non-appearance.  She 
had  taken  obvious  pleasure  in  his  society  last 
night;  had  shaken  hands  with  him  cordially  at 
parting.  Why,  then,  had  she  absented  herself 
from  the  deck  to-day? 

Knight  was  still  puzzling  over  the  matter  as  he 
walked  rather  petulantly  about  the  deck  after 
dinner;  when  of  a  sudden,  to  his  surprise  and 
delight,  the  object  of  his  thoughts  appeared  at 
the  doorway.  On  seeing  him,  the  girl  came 
forward  with  a  smile,  her  hand  extended. 

"I  hoped  I  should  find  you  here,"  she  said. 
"They  are  to  land  us  early  in  the  morning,  I  am 
told,  and,  of  course,  we  shall  all  be  busy  then; 
and  I  did  not  wish  to  leave  without  saying  good- 
bye to  you." 

Knight  was  taken  aback  at  the  nature  of  the 
greeting.  He  could  not  but  feel  that  Miss  West 
had  purposely  kept  away  from  him  all  day;  yet 
he  had  no  right  to  assume  this.  There  was  noth- 
ing but  friendliness  in  her  tone  now;  and,  after 
all,  there  had  been  no  agreement — if  there  had 
3  [33] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

been  a  tacit  understanding — that  they  were  to 
have  spent  the  day  together. 

Nevertheless,  he  could  not  refrain  from  giving 
expression  to  his  disappointment. 

"I  have  been  looking  for  you,  and  hoping  to 
see  you,  all  day  long.  We  had  begun  to  get  ac- 
quainted last  evening.  I  had  hoped  to  make  much 
progress  to-day." 

"Oh!  It  was  kind  of  you  to  think  of  me." 
She  looked  full  into  his  eyes  as  she  spoke,  and  her 
smile  had  no  trace  of  coquetry.  "I  thought  of 
you,  too,  and  wished  more  than  once  that  I  was 
out  on  deck;  but  I  did  not  sleep  well  last  night, 
and  it  seemed  best  for  me  to  stay  in  my  cabin.  I 
have  only  just  come  out." 

"Then  we  must  make  the  most  of  this 
evening.  Shall  we  go  up  on  the  upper  deck 
again?" 

"I  am  afraid  I  must  not.  I  promised  the 
Senora  that  I  would  return  immediately,  and  try 
to  get  a  good  night's  rest.  She  is  worried  about 
me,  though  there  is  no  reason  to  be.  But  I  think 
she  is  right  about  it  being  well  for  me  to  get  a 
good  rest.  So  I  will  say  good-night,  and  good- 
bye, in  case  we  don't  see  each  other  as  we  get  off 
the  boat  to-morrow.  There  is  always  such  a  rush 

[34] 


SENORA  MADERO 

that  one  never  has  time  to  see  anyone,  I  am  told. 
You  see,  this  is  my  first  trip  abroad." 

She  put  out  her  hand,  smiling  in  a  way  that 
made  her  seem  altogether  adorable.  "Good- 
night," she  said  again. 

Knight  took  the  proffered  hand;  but  instead 
of  touching  it  formally  and  releasing  it,  he  gripped 
it  firmly,  and  held  it  while  he  scrutinized  the  win- 
some face  that  was  upturned  to  him.  He  drew 
himself  to  his  full  height,  towering  above  the  girl. 
For  a  moment  he  did  not  speak.  Then  he  said 
slowly: 

"Miss  Jocelyn  West,  we  pledged  each  other  to 
be  good  friends  last  night.  Do  you  think  it  a 
friendly  way  of  doing,  to  evade  me  to-day,  and  to 
attempt  to  leave  me  with  this  formal  greeting  now? 
I  told  you  last  night  that  I  felt  sure  you  were  very 
much  worth  while.  I  am  doubly  convinced  of  it 
now;  and  I  can't  bear  the  thought  of  losing  you. 
We  have  known  each  other  but  a  few  hours;  yet 
I  feel  that  our  talk  of  last  night  put  us  on  a  foot- 
ing that  makes  it  possible  for  me  to  ask,  without 
impertinence,  that  you  will  tell  me  what  has 
happened  since  yesterday  to  make  you  feel  that 
my  friendship  is  not  worth  having." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Knight,"  she  faltered.  "Please  do 
[35] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

not  think  that  I  should  not  prize  your  friendship. 
I  should  prize  it  very  much  indeed.  And  nothing 
has  happened  to-day  to  change  my  feeling  in  any 
way  toward  you." 

"Yet  you  have  purposely  avoided  me." 

"If  I  have,  it  was  because  it  seemed  best,  and 
not  for  any  reason  that  concerns  you  directly. 

"It  must  concern  me  directly,  since  it  results 
in  keeping  you  away  from  me.  Come,  Miss 
Jocelyn;  let  us  go  on  the  upper  deck  where  we 
were  last  night,  and  you  shall  tell  me  about  it." 

He  drew  the  girl's  hand  through  his  arm  as  he 
spoke,  and  turned  with  her  toward  the  gangway. 
She  felt  the  overmastering  force  of  his  personal- 
ity, and  she  went  with  him  without  comment  or 
protest.  Nor  did  he  speak  again  till  he  had 
found  a  chair  for  his  companion,  wrapped  a  rug 
about  her,  and  seated  himself  beside  her.  They 
were  in  the  same  corner  where  they  had  been  the 
night  before,  in  the  lea  of  one  of  the  great  funnels. 

"There,"  he  said ;  "are  you  quite  comfortable? " 

"Perfectly  so.    Thank  you." 

She  paused  a  moment,  and  he  saw  that  her  face 
was  very  grave.  "I  am  glad  to  be  here,"  she 
continued,  "though  I  felt  that  I  ought  not  to 
come.  Yes,  I  am  very  glad." 

[36] 


SENORA  MADERO 

She  smiled  up  at  him  now,  and  put  out  her 
hand  impulsively.  "  Thank  you  for  bringing  me 
here,  my  friend." 

He  took  her  hand  with  full  understanding;  and 
in  the  moment  that  he  held  it,  they  both  felt  that 
the  bond  of  their  friendship  had  been  cemented. 

"Miss  Jocelyn,"  he  began — "I  may  call  you 
that,  may  I  not?" 

She  smiled  assent. 

"Tell  me,"  he  continued,  "why  did  you  evade 
me  to-day;  why  did  you  intend  to  leave  me  with 
a  formal  'Good-bye'?" 

"Some  time  I  will  tell  you.  Please  do  not  ask 
it  just  now.  Let  it  suffice  that  I  did  it  because  I 
thought  it  best;  not  because  I  wished  to.  Isn't 
that  enough  for  the  moment?" 

"  It  is  enough  to  know  that  you  did  not  wish  to 
elude  me." 

He  was  leaning  close  above  her  as  he  spoke, 
and  there  was  a  look  of  tenderness  in  his  eyes  that 
could  not  be  mistaken. 

"Jocelyn,"  he  said  softly,  "it  is  ridiculous,  but 
I  feel  as  if  we  had  known  each  other  for  years 
instead  of  hours.  All  day  I  have  thought  of 
nothing  but  your  coming;  and  when  you  finally 
came  to-night,  and  were  going  away  again,  I 

[37] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

could  not  bear  it.  Little  as  I  know  about  the 
details  of  your  life,  I  feel  that  I  know  you — the 
real  you,  your  innermost  self — as  well  as  if  I 
had  watched  you  from  childhood.  And  some- 
how I  feel  that  you  know  me  in  the  same  way. 

"I  said  last  night  that  I  felt  we  were  destined 
to  be  friends.  I  feel  now,  Jocelyn,  that  we  are 
destined  to  be  more  than  friends.  I  feel  that  I 
have  loved  you  from  the  moment  I  first  saw  you, 
five  days  ago;  and  I  know  that  time  will  not, 
cannot,  change  my  feeling.  I  am  going  to  make 
you  love  me,  and  when  you  feel  that  you  know 
me  well  enough,  I  shall  ask  you  to  marry  me." 

If  Knight  had  not  been  oblivious  to  all  but  his 
own  emotions,  he  would  have  been  aware  that 
the  face  of  his  companion  blanched. 

"Oh,  please,  please,"  she  gasped.  "I  was 
afraid  you  were  going  to  say  that.  I  couldn't 
stop  you,  for  I  loved  to  hear  the  words.  But  I 
must  tell  you  now,  at  once,  what  I  should  have 
told  you  in  the  beginning.  I  cannot  marry  any- 
one, because — because  I  am  married  already. 
Oh,  Mr.  Knight,  don't  you  remember  that  I  told 
you  I  am  Senora  Madero?  It  is  true.  You  took 
it  for  granted  that  I  was  Jocelyn  West,  because 
you  saw  that  name  on  the  program.  When  you 

[38] 


SENORA  MADERO 

took  it  for  granted,  I  had  not  the  courage  to  un- 
deceive you,  because  it  was  very  sweet  to  me  to 
think,  even  for  a  few  hours,  what  might  have  been. 
But  then  I  saw  that  it  must  not  go  on.  That  was 
why  I  kept  away  to-day.  I  had  no  right  to  see 
you.  I  have  no  right  to  be  here  now.  I  am  not 
the  young  girl  I  seem.  I  am  a  married  woman." 

Knight  regarded  his  companion  with  con- 
sternation. 

"  Married ! "  he  said  bitterly.  "Married !  Good 
God;  it  can't  be  true.  Why  were  you  on  the 
program  as  Miss  Jocelyn  West  if  you  are 
married?" 

"That  was  my  maiden  name.  I  used  it  on 
the  concert  program  to  hide  my  identity,  as  one 
uses  a  nom  de  plume.  But  I  did  not  tell  you 
that  was  my  name.  I  told  you  at  the  outset  that 
I  was  Sefiora  Madero.  I  never  denied  it  after- 
ward. I  told  you  the  exact  truth  about  myself, 
even  to  the  fact  of  my  husband  being  a  Spaniard 
and  living  in  Mexico." 

"But  last  night  you  let  me  think  you  were  Miss 
Jocelyn  West." 

"You  took  it  for  granted,  and  I  did  let  you  go 
on  thinking  so,  because,  at  the  moment,  there 
seemed  no  harm  in  it;  and  it  was  very  pleasant  to 

[39] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

feel  myself  a  girl  again,  and  to  sit  there  in  the 
moonlight  and  talk  with  a  man  who  did  not  know 
one  was  an  old  married  woman.  But,  after  a 
little,  I  began  to  see  that  you  might  become  fond 
of  me,  and  that  I  might  become  fond  of  you;  and 
after  I  went  to  my  stateroom  I  felt  very  wicked 
and  miserable,  and  I — well — I'm  afraid  I  was 
very  foolish.  That  was  why  I  spent  a  bad  night, 
and  why  I  did  not  come  out  on  the  deck  to-day." 

Knight  rose  and  walked  back  and  forth  for  sev- 
eral minutes  without  speaking.  His  head  was 
awhirl.  But  he  strove  to  keep  his  bearings;  to 
clear  the  mad  jumble  of  his  thoughts. 

At  last  he  paused,  and  as  he  leaned  over  the 
girl,  he  thought  he  caught  the  glitter  of  tears  in 
her  eyes. 

"Do  you  love  your  husband?"  he  asked 
suddenly. 

"Do  I  love  him?  Oh,  no,  no.  I  think  I  hate 
him.  I  could  not  tell  you  that  yesterday,  of 
course.  But  now  I  must  make  you  understand. 
I  have  not  seen  my  husband  for  two  years.  I  do 
not  expect  ever  to  see  him  again.  I  was  only 
seventeen  when  I  married — a  foolish  girl's  run- 
away match,  to  get  away  from  an  unhappy  home. 
I  was  caught  by  the  glamour  of  the  Spanish  gal- 

[40] 


SENORA  MADERO 

lant  manner,  and  the  romanticism  of  ranch  life. 
Senor  Madero  has  a  big  ranch  in  Mexico.  But 
I  soon  learned  my  mistake;  and  after  leading  a 
cat-and-dog  life  for  three  years,  I  gave  it  up,  and 
came  away.  My  husband  had  squandered  a  good 
deal  of  my  property,  and  a  good  deal  more  was 
tied  up  in  the  ranch;  but  I  had  enough  beside  to 
support  me  comfortably,  and  I  came  to  New  York 
and  have  lived  there,  except  while  traveling,  the 
past  two  years. 

"You  remember,  perhaps,  that  I  told  you  I 
was  on  a  ranch  with  my  brother  in  Mexico.  That 
was  true;  my  brother  was  a  partner  there.  But 
he  could  go  away  when  he  chose;  while  I  was 
bound  for  life,  legally,  even  though  I  should  go 
away  in  person  as  I  finally  was  forced  to  do." 

"But  why  for  life,  Jocelyn?  We  will  secure 
your  freedom,  and  then  you  shall  begin  life  over 
again  as  my  wife." 

"It  is  impossible.  My  husband  is  a  Catholic. 
He  received  a  special  dispensation  in  order  to 
marry  me;  the  Church  consenting,  I  believe, 
chiefly  with  the  hope  of  getting  my  property. 
Neither  Senor  Madero  nor  his  clerical  advisers 
will  tolerate  the  thought  of  a  divorce.  I  begged 
for  that  before  I  came  away;  and  I  have  written 

41] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

about  it  again  and  again.  In  fact,  that  is  the 
only  subject  of  communication  between  us.  But 
it  is  quite  useless.  Sefior  Madero  declares  he 
will  fight  against  a  divorce  with  his  last  dollar, 
and  the  whole  force  of  the  Church  is  back  of  him. 
He  is  very  influential  in  his  country.  The  case 
is  utterly  hopeless.  I  am  bound  for  life." 

They  were  both  silent  for  a  few  moments;  then 
she  looked  up  at  him  appealingly. 

"Do  you  think  it  will  be  right  for  us  still  to  be 
friends,  now  that  you  know  everything?  " 

For  reply,  he  took  her  hand  in  his  very  tenderly, 
and  raised  it  to  his  lips.  . 


142"] 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  BONDAGE  OF  THE  LAW 

The  Mauretania  came  to  her  dock  early  next 
morning.  On  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day, 
Prescott  Knight  paid  a  visit  to  his  lawyer. 

That  gentleman  expressed  a  mild  surprise  at 
the  nature  of  the  questions  his  client  propounded. 

"What  the  deuce  should  you  care  about  divorce 
laws?"  he  said.  "Marriage  laws  should  be  more 
in  the  line  of  a  bachelor's  interests." 

"Perhaps  the  two  are  not  unrelated." 

"Ah,  I  see.  Well,  precisely  what  is  your  bias? 
State  your  hypothetical  case." 

"I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  the  case  is  more 
than  hypothetical.  It  is  actual  and  tangible.  It 
concerns  a  young  American  woman  who  was  mar- 
ried at  seventeen  to  a  Spaniard.  The  marriage 
took  place  in  California,  and  the  couple  went  to 
live  in  Mexico.  They  were  ill-mated,  and  after  a 
few  months  the  girl  left  her  husband,  came  to 
New  York,  and  has  never  returned.  She  was 

[43] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

made  miserable  at  the  ranch  by  the  utterly  dif- 
ferent views  held  by  herself  and  her  husband  re- 
garding pretty  nearly  every  subject,  but  so  far  as 
I  can  learn  there  was  no  open  quarrel  at  any  time, 
even  when  the  girl  came  away." 

"Yes,  yes;  'incompatibility  of  temperament' 
is  the  way  it  is  usually  phrased.  That  will  do  well 
enough.  Desertion  and  non-support  can  be  in- 
cluded, presumably,  if  necessary.  There  ought 
not  to  be  any  very  great  difficulty  about  that. 
The  wife  is  to  be  allowed  to  be  the  complainant,  I 
suppose?  That  is  the  more  usual  way.  The 
husband  consents,  of  course?" 

"Unfortunately  not.  That  is  precisely  the 
trouble.  Instead  of  consenting,  he  bitterly  op- 
poses the  idea  of  a  separation  of  any  kind.  More- 
over, there  is  a  religious  complication.  The  hus- 
band is  a  Catholic,  and  the  Church  will  back  him 
up  in  strenuous  opposition  to  a  divorce." 

"Humph.  That  makes  a  difference,  of  course. 
Where  there  is  a  mutual  desire  or  willingness  to 
have  a  separation,  it  can  usually  be  arranged,  if 
financial  matters  are  not  a  complication;  but 
where  one  party  opposes  the  separation,  there  may 
be  difficulty." 

"So     I     feared.      But    are    the     difficulties 
[44] 


THE  BONDAGE  OF  THE  LAW 

insurmountable?  That  is  what  I  wish  to 
know." 

The  lawyer  regarded  his  client  smilingly  for  a 
few  moments  before  he  spoke. 

"Do  you  wish  them  to  be  insurmountable?" 
he  asked. 

"On  the  contrary,  I  very  much  wish  them  to  be 
overcome." 

"The  wife  herself  is  equally  anxious?" 

"She  has  used  every  endeavor  for  the  past  year 
or  more  to  secure  her  husband's  consent;  but 
without  avail." 

"I  think  I  see  the  point.  I  will  take  it  under 
advisement.  Of  course  we  do  not  specialize  in 
this  line,  but  I  have  a  friend  that  does.  Come 
hi  Monday,  and  I  will  report.  Meantime,  let 
me  make  a  note  of  the  data." 

Knight  gave  the  desired  information  in  detail, 
withholding  only  the  names  of  the  parties  in- 
volved. His  interview  had  not  added  much  to 
his  knowledge,  but  he  felt  that  he  was  at  least  in 
the  line  of  good  legal  advice. 

When  he  visited  the  office  Monday,  he  found 
a  lengthy  document  there,  giving  the  opinion  of 
the  expert.  In  the  midst  of  much  verbiage,  this 
document  embodied  the  idea  that  the  wife  in 

[45] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

question  would,  under  all  the  circumstances, 
find  it  very  difficult  to  secure  a  decree.  There 
was  no  evidence  that  she  was  an  injured  party. 
Cruelty  was  not  charged,  nor  desertion,  nor  non- 
support;  nor  was  the  husband  accused  of  mis- 
conduct that  would  provide  the  usual  statutory 
grounds. 

The  religious  complication  was  also  dwelt  upon. 
The  expert  considered  this  a  very  important  item. 
The  Catholic  Church  forbids  divorce,  regarding 
marriage  as  a  divine  covenant;  and  while  the 
law  takes  no  ostensible  cognizance  of  the  relig- 
ious views  of  anyone,  yet  practically  the  opposi- 
tion of  the  Church  would  make  itself  felt. 

Knight  read  the  document  through,  mentally 
sifting  out  its  pertinent  portions. 

"As  far  as  I  can  make  out,"  he  said,  "there 
is  little  hope  that  the  wife  will  be  able  to  secure  a 
divorce." 

"  Unless  the  husband  can  be  induced  to  con- 
sent, apparently  not." 

"In  other  words,  the  marriage  vow  makes  a 
woman  a  slave,  not  subject  to  emancipation  ex- 
cept with  the  full  consent  of  her  master." 

"Ah,  but  it  binds  the  husband  equally." 

"In  theory,  perhaps.  But  in  any  event,  the 
(46] 


THE  BONDAGE  OF  THE  LAW 

young  woman  in  question  is  bound  for  life,  ac- 
cording to  this  interpretation  of  the  law,  unless 
her  husband  will  agree  to  release  her.  If  he 
agrees,  she  can  be  released.  That  puts  her 
entire  future  in  his  hands.  She  cannot  live  with 
him;  yet  she  must  remain  legally  his  wife,  with 
all  the  restrictions  that  this  implies.  It  appears 
to  me  that  we  are  in  need  of  some  new  emancipa- 
tion-from-slavery  laws." 

"Ah,  but  remember,  my  dear  Mr.  Knight,  that 
the  laws  must  be  framed  to  meet  the  needs  of  the 
average  citizen.  In  individual  cases,  an  injus- 
tice may  be  done  by  the  operation  of  a  law  that  in 
general  application  is  perfectly  just.  We  must 
take  the  conditions  of  society  as  we  find  them. 
The  entire  question  of  the  marriage  relation  is 
based  on  the  fact  that  the  family  is  the  foundation- 
stone  of  civilization,  and  that  the  woman  is 
fundamentally  not  a  bread-winner  but  a  child- 
bearer.  As  such,  the  woman  must  be  protected. 
So  the  law  provides  that  abuse,  non-support, 
abandonment,  shall  constitute  grounds  for  a 
separation. 

"All  this  is  in  the  interest  chiefly  of  the  woman; 
in  fact,  the  entire  system  of  marriage  laws  has 
been  developed  in  her  interest.  If  legislation  had 

[47] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

considered,  primarily  or  chiefly,  man's  side  of  the 
proposition,  there  would  be  no  marriage  laws  at 
all." 

"I  can  see  a  good  deal  of  force  in  that  view  of 
the  case.  But  whatever  the  philosophy  of  the 
law,  the  net  result  is,  that  a  woman  who  mar- 
ries— even  if  she  took  the  step  while  she  was 
still  at  an  age  at  which  men  are  held  to  be  minors 
— has  no  conceivable  way  of  escaping  from  her 
husband  as  long  as  she  lives,  unless  the  man  vol- 
untarily decides  to  give  her  up." 

"Well,  that  is  a  rather  unusual  way  of  stating 
the  case;  but  it  perhaps  fairly  represents  the  facts 
—or,  at  least,  one  aspect  of  the  facts." 

"Then  it  appears  to  me  that  it  is  high  time  our 
laws  were  modified.  It  appears  that  any  and 
every  married  woman  who  is  unhappily  mated 
is  virtually  a  slave." 

"Being  a  bachelor,  you  naturally  think  of  the 
woman's  side  of  it.  If  you  were,  like  myself,  a 
married  man,  you  might  reflect  that  the  husband 
is  also  subjected  to  his  full  share  of  bondage. 
Now,  between  ourselves,  I'll  admit  that  I  have 
often  thought  of  the  marriage  relation  as  a 
species  of  slavery;  but  I  always  pictured  myself 
as  the  slave. 

[48] 


THE  BONDAGE  OF  THE  LAW 

"  Why,  I  may  not,  for  example,  go  out  for  lunch 
with  a  female  client  without  infringing  the  pro- 
prieties. If  the  client  chanced  to  be  good-looking, 
I  should  most  certainly  involve  myself  in  domestic 
difficulties  were  I  to  show  her  any  attentions  out- 
side the  office. 

"That,  if  you  please,  is  slavery.  I  endure  that 
slavery.  But  I  must  exact  something  in  return. 
What  manner  of  compact  should  I  have  made 
were  it  legally  permissible  for  a  man's  wife  to 
mention  casually  to  her  husband  some  night 
when  he  comes  home  from  his  day's  work,  that 
she  has  seen  some  other  fellow  she  thought  she 
would  like  better,  but  that  she  will  magnani- 
mously postpone  her  going  until  he  can  engage  a 
housekeeper  to  look  after  the  children?" 

As  he  propounded  this  poser,  the  lawyer  smiled 
benevolently,  and  rubbed  his  hands  together  in 
the  manner  characteristic  of  the  arguer  who  feels 
that  he  has  made  a  good  point. 

"It  looks  a  bit  different  when  you  regard  it 
from  that  standpoint,  doesn't  it?  A  good  deal 
depends  on  whose  ox  is  gored,  eh?" 

"Most  things  do  look  differently  from  different 
points  of  view;  otherwise  I  suppose  you  lawyers 
would  all  go  out  of  business.  However,  at  the 
4  [49] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

moment  I  am  concerned  not  so  much  with  the 
philosophy  of  the  marriage  laws — although  I  ad- 
mit the  interest  of  that  subject — as  with  the 
concrete  case  of  a  young  woman  who  desires  her 
freedom,  which  her  husband  will  not  give  her. 
The  point  seems  to  be  that  she  is  a  slave,  bound 
for  life,  and  your  legal  mind  offers  no  avenue  of 
escape." 

"That  is  about  the  substance  of  it,  I'm  afraid." 
"Well,  I  can  only  add  that  my  excursus  into 
the  law  has  made  me  a  convert  to  the  views  of 
Bernard  Shaw,  as  regards  the  subject  of  divorce." 
And  Knight  left  the  office  of  his  legal  adviser  in 
no  very  pleasant  mood.    He  was  not  accustomed 
to  be  balked  in  his  plans  by  any  obstacle  whatso- 
ever, and  the  present  experience  put  him  in  a 
decidedly  rebellious  frame  of  mind. 


[50] 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  TYRANNY  OF  CONVENTION 

Prescott  Knight  did  not  see  Senora  Madero 
during  those  first  few  days  after  the  landing  of  the 
steamer.  He  had  learned  her  address  before  say- 
ing good-bye  on  the  pier,  and  he  had  telephoned 
her  on  several  occasions;  but  she  had  replied  that 
she  was  going  out  of  town  for  the  week-end,  and 
pleaded  an  engagement  as  an  excuse  for  not  accept- 
ing his  invitations  to  lunch  or  dine  with  him.  He 
felt  that  she  was  evading  him,  but  as  he  now  un- 
derstood the  reason,  he  did  not  resent,  much  as 
he  deplored,  her  attitude.  She  had  promised, 
however,  to  meet  him  early  in  the  following  week. 

Meantime  Knight,  as  we  have  seen,  was  inform- 
ing himself  as  to  the  probability  of  Jocelyn's  being 
able  to  secure  her  freedom.  The  girl  herself  had 
also  renewed  her  efforts  to  that  end.  She  had  not 
only  consulted  her  lawyers,  but  had  sent  through 
them  a  direct  appeal  to  her  husband,  making  the 
offer  of  certain  financial  sacrifices,  hoping  to  gain 

[51] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

through  his  cupidity  what  no  sense  of  generosity 
would  cause  him  to  accede  to.  For  Jocelyn's 
lawyers  had  taken  the  same  view  of  the  legal 
aspect  of  the  matter  that  had  been  arrived  at  by 
the  expert  Knight  had  consulted. 

Tuesday  morning  Knight  called  up  Senora 
Madero  on  the  telephone,  and  asked  her  to  go  to 
lunch  with  him.  She  suggested  that  he  come  to 
lunch  at  her  apartment  instead,  and  he  eagerly 
acquiesced.  The  sound  of  Jocelyn's  rich,  full 
voice,  even  over  the  telephone,  made  the  young 
man's  pulse  beat  quicker.  The  prospect  of  seeing 
the  girl  herself  filled  his  mind  with  pleasurable 
anticipations  that  shut  out  every  other  thought. 
Yet  there  remained  always,  as  background  for  the 
mental  picture,  the  dark  shadow  of  the  recollec- 
tion that  Jocelyn  was  married,  and  that  there  was 
no  legal  escape  from  her  thraldom. 

This  unpleasant  recollection  was  for  the  mo- 
ment quite  banished,  however,  when  he  at  last 
was  ushered  into  Jocelyn's  drawing-room.  The 
girl  came  forward  to  greet  him  with  the  most 
spontaneous  and  unaffected  appearance  of  pleas- 
ure. She  grasped  his  hand  warmly,  and  her  entire 
manner  denoted  friendliness.  Yet  he  was  con- 
scious from  the  first  of  a  certain  atmosphere  of 

[52] 


tt 


THE  TYRANNY  OF  CONVENTION 

reserve;  and  the  young  woman  presently  put  in 
words  the  feelings  that  had  thus  found  uncon- 
scious expression. 

"I  am  truly  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Knight,"  she 
said;  "yet  I  have  had  many  misgivings  about 
allowing  you  to  come  here.  We  have  agreed  that 
we  are  to  be  friends,  yet  there  are  obvious  diffi- 
culties in  the  way  of  our  maintaining  that  friend- 
ship." 

But  surely  "- 

Oh,  I  do  not  mean  that  there  would  be  any 
difficulty  so  far  as  we  ourselves  are  concerned. 
But  you  must  remember  that  my  position  is  a  very 
delicate,  and  often  an  embarrassing  one.  I  am  a 
married  woman,  separated  from  her  husband  in 
fact,  yet  just  as  rigidly  bound  to  him  by  law  as  if 
actually  living  with  him.  A  woman  under  these 
circumstances  is  always  subject  to  the  critical 
surveillance  of  every  one  about  her.  All  men 
regard  her  as  fair  game. " 

1 '  Jocelyn ! "  he  protested. 

"Again  I  do  not  refer  to  you,  amigo  mio"  she 
said,  with  an  almost  caressing  accent  on  the  word 
that  made  his  heart  leap.  "I  speak  of  men  as  a 
class,  and  of  the  interpretation  which  man  and 
woman  alike  put  upon  a  friendship  between  a 

[53] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

married  woman  detached  from  her  husband  and 
any  man  whomsoever.  When  the  woman  hap- 
pens to  be  as  young  as  I  am,  and  the  man  as  obvi- 
ously attractive  as  you  are,  the  tongues  of  the 
gossips  would  be  set  wagging  all  the  more  readily." 

Knight  was  too  honest  not  to  admit  the  truth 
of  the  suggestion.  But  his  affection  for  the  girl, 
which  grew  with  each  sight  of  her,  was  such  that 
he  would  not  for  a  moment  consider  the  thought 
of  giving  her  up.  Each  time  he  had  met  her  she 
had  shown  him  a  different  aspect  of  her  person- 
ality, and  each  one  seemed  more  charming  than 
the  last. 

He  contrasted  now  the  gravity  and  earnestness 
of  her  pale  face  with  the  jollity  and  vivacity  of  the 
girl  who  had  danced  at  the  concert,  and  with  the 
demure  coquetry  of  the  Sefiora  who  had  lisped 
broken  English  that  afternoon  on  the  boat;  and 
he  felt  that  his  first  impression  of  a  responsive, 
sympathetic  personality  was  emphasized  and 
demonstrated.  Here  at  last  he  had  found  the 
woman  of  his  dreams — found  her  only  to  be  told 
that  he  must  give  her  up. 

His  mind  rebelled  at  the  injustice  of  the  situa- 
tion. 

"  Jocelyn,"  he  said;  "I  realize  the  full  force  of 
[54] 


THE  TYRANNY  OF  CONVENTION 

your  suggestion;  and  I  need  not  tell  you  that  I 
would  not  do  anything  that  might  compromise 
you  in  the  eyes  of  your  associates  or  of  the  world 
at  large.  But  what  are  we  to  do?  Before  I  knew 
that  you  were  not  free,  I  told  you  that  I  loved 
you.  Learning  that  you  are  married  does  not 
make  me  cease  to  love  you;  though  according  to 
the  conventionalities  of  society,  I  may  not  now 
tell  you  so  without  offending  the  proprieties.  But 
our  case  stands  apart  from  the  conventionalities. 
You  are  nominally  bound" 

"Unfortunately  I  am  bound  with  legal  chains 
that  are  very  far  from  being  'only  nominal.' ' 

He  realized  the  truth  of  this,  and  for  a  few  min- 
utes was  silent.  He  arose  and  stalked  back  and 
forth,  his  hands  behind  his  back,  in  a  manner  that 
characterized  him  when  puzzled  or  deeply  in- 
volved in  thought. 

"We  must  find  a  way  out,  Jocelyn  dear."  He 
came  close  beside  her.  "I  feel  that  I  cannot 
give  you  up.  And  is  there  any  justice  in  restric- 
tions that  would  impose  upon  you  for  all  time  the 
life  of  a  Vestal?  No,  you  must  break  the  bonds 
of  conventionality" 

"You  forget  how  society  punishes  any  one  who 
dares  to  do  that." 

155] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

"No;  I  do  not  forget.  I  have  thought  the 
matter  over — have  thought  of  nothing  else  since 
that  night  on  the  boat.  I  am  trying  to  see  things 
from  your  side  altogether.  I  realize  the  difficulties, 
the  sacrifices  required.  But  all  life  is  a  choice  of 
evils,  and  I  ask  you  frankly  whether  you  might 
not  find  a  better  chance  of  happiness  in  defying 
the  conventionalities  than  in  being  doomed  to  a 
life  of  celibate  retirement;  the  suppositious  life 
of  a  nun?" 

"Happiness?"  she  queried.  "Happiness?  I 
have  almost  ceased  to  expect  to  find  much  hap- 
piness. It  has  sometimes  seemed  to  me  that  my 
marriage  must  have  constituted  an  unpardonable 
sin  for  which  I  must  do  penance  the  rest  of  my 
life.  Don't  you  remember  how  George  Eliot 
says — in  Adam  Bede,  is  it  not? — that  there  are 
some  sins  that  can  never  be  atoned  for?" 

"Well,  I  don't  think  even  the  severest  moral- 
ist would  wish  to  catalogue  an  ill-advised  mar- 
riage on  the  part  of  a  seventeen-year-old  girl  as  a 
sin  of  the  unpardonable  type.  If  the  law  and  the 
voice  of  conventionality  so  decree  it,  then  so 
much  the  worse  for  the  law  and  the  voice  of  con- 
ventionality. Come,  dear  Jocelyn,  intelligent 
beings  must  become  to  some  extent  arbiters  of 

[56] 


THE  TYRANNY  OF  CONVENTION 

their  own  destinies.  You  have  but  one  life  to  live, 
and  it  would  be  the  very  mockery  of  justice  to 
assume  that  a  mistake  in  judgment  made  when 
you  were  a  child  of  seventeen  years  should  put  a 
bar  on  your  chance  of  happiness  for  all  the  future. 
We  can  do  better  than  that,  Jocelyn." 

"But  how,  Prescott?"  It  was  the  first  time 
she  had  called  him  by  his  first  name,  and  that 
indication  of  friendship  gave  him  a  thrill  of 
pleasure. 

"By  taking  up  our  lives  together,  Jocelyn." 
"Oh,  my  friend,  you  must  not  speak  of  such  a 
thing."  Her  tone  was  very  grave,  but  without 
a  trace  of  anger.  "If  I  were  to  consider  it  for  a 
moment,  all  my  Puritan  ancestors  would  rise  up 
and  haunt  me." 

"But  you  are  not  afraid  of  ghosts,  Jocelyn." 
"Yes;  I  am  afraid  of  ghosts  of  that  description. 
But  even  if  I  were  not,  there  are  more  tangible, 
though  not  more  terrible,  things  than  ghosts  to  be 
considered.  All  my  friends  in  the  flesh  would  of 
course  turn  against  me.  I  should  be  an  outcast 
from  the  circle  of  friends  where  I  am  now  re- 
spected. How  could  one  expect  happiness  when 
cast  off  by  one's  friends  and  upbraided  by  one's 
own  conscience?  No;  no,  my  friend,  whatever 

[57] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

else  may  be  in  store  for  me,  that  surely  can  not 
be  the  gateway  to  my  goal  of  happiness." 

"But  you  are  fond  of  me,  Jocelyn?" 

"I  could  be  fond  of  you — very  fond  of  you — 
only  too  easily,  did  I  not  hold  myself  in  check.  I 
tell  you  that  quite  frankly." 

"Then  let  us  go  to  some  other  part  of  the  world, 
and  take  up  life  together  there.  If  we  leave  old 
friends,  we  will  make  new  ones.  We  will  be  known 
as  man  and  wife,  and  our  new  friends  will  never 
suspect" 

"You  forget  the  ancestral  ghosts.  They 
would  go  with  us.  And  where  eight  genera- 
tions of  them  are  New  England  ghosts,  I  as- 
sure you  they  are  very  real  and  utterly  domina- 
ting. There  is  one  strain  of  Spanish  blood  in  my 
veins;  and  the  ancestors  of  that  line  beckon  me 
— tempt  me,  for  a  moment,  to  accept  your  point 
of  view.  But  the  hosts  of  Puritans  outnumber 
and  overmaster  them.  If  you  and  I  cannot  be 
friends  without  offending  that  austere  galaxy  of 
monitors,  who  sit  ever  in  judgment,  then  we  must 
cease  to  be  friends." 

He  looked  at  her  with  increasing  amazement  as 
she  went  on.  Here  was  the  little  Spanish  coquette, 
the  naive  girl,  transformed  into  a  philosopher, 

[58] 


THE  TYRANNY  OF  CONVENTION 

There  were  mental  depths  here  that  he  had 
scarcely  suspected,  much  less  sounded.  The 
girl's  physical  charm  had  attracted  him  with  the 
grip  of  magnetism;  the  new  glimpses  of  her  men- 
tality made  her  all  the  more  alluring. 

But  he  saw  clearly  enough  the  futility  of  any 
argument  against  her  prejudice  at  the  moment. 
So  he  strove  only  to  convince  her  that  it  would  be 
possible  for  them  to  remain  friends  without  infring- 
ing the  proprieties.  He  so  far  succeeded  that  she 
agreed  to  let  him  call  on  her  occasionally,  and  even  to 
go  with  him  now  and  then  for  lunch  or  to  a  matinee. 

Yet  she  made  even  these  concessions  not  with- 
out misgivings  as  to  what  interpretation  her 
women  associates  might  put  upon  her  friendship 
with  this  attractive  man. 

Deep  in  her  heart  she  had  some  misgivings  also 
as  to  whether  the  concessions  she  had  made — 
slight  as  they  seemed — might  not  lead  in  the  di- 
rection of  dangerous  paths.  But  Prescott  urged 
that  even  if  she  were  a  slave  for  life  at  least  she 
had  not  been  condemned  by  law  to  solitary  con- 
finement. This  argument,  together  with  a  con- 
sciousness of  the  integrity  of  her  own  motives, 
led  her  to  dismiss  the  clamorings  of  the  more 
ascetic  of  her  Puritanical  monitors. 

159] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

Even  the  Blue  Laws  themselves,  she  reflected, 
could  hardly  condemn  a  woman  to  refrain  for  all 
time  from  speaking  to  a  member  of  the  opposite 
sex. 


[601 


CHAPTER  V 

A  DAY  WITH  THE  SPANIARDS 

For  the  ensuing  week  or  so  nothing  occurred  to 
disturb  the  equanimity  of  the  most  Puritanical 
of  Jocelyn's  mentors.  The  girl  was  constantly  on 
her  guard  to  warn  her  admirer  that  their  relations 
must  be  those  of  friends,  not  those  of  lovers.  Her 
circumspection  made  her  doubly  alluring,  but 
Knight  had  come  so  to  prize  her  friendship  that 
he  held  himself  carefully  in  check  whenever  the 
impulse  to  make  love  to  the  girl  came  over  him. 

But  one  day  he  learned  to  his  surprise  that 
Jocelyn  was  to  spend  the  week-end  at  a  country 
house  on  Long  Island,  to  attend  a  hunt  to  which 
he  also  had  been  invited.  Their  respective  hosts 
were  neighbors,  and  it  was  quite  by  accident  that 
they  were  to  be  thrown  together  in  this  hunting- 
party. 

Needless  to  say,  Knight  looked  forward  to  the 
hunt  with  keen  anticipations.  He  said  nothing 
to  Jocelyn  about  his  expected  presence  there, 

[61] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

thinking  to  surprise  her;  and  perhaps  harboring 
a  half -fear  that  if  she  knew  of  his  going  she  might 
feel  it  her  duty  to  stay  away. 

So  it  chanced  that  on  the  morning  of  the  hunt, 
Jocelyn,  seated  on  a  splendid  mount,  came  face 
to  face  on  a  Long  Island  road  with  Prescott 
Knight,  likewise  mounted,  when  she  had  no  sus- 
picion that  he  was  anywhere  in  that  part  of  the 
world. 

Her  genuine  surprise  was  mingled  with  equally 
genuine  pleasure.  If  a  momentary  qualm  came 
to  her  mind  she  dismissed  it  immediately.  This 
meeting  had  not  been  of  her  seeking;  it  had  been 
accomplished  without  her  knowledge  or  consent. 
There  could  be  no  possible  harm  in  it.  The  fates 
had  thrown  them  together  for  a  day  in  the  open. 
She  would  make  the  most  of  it. 

Jocelyn  was  with  half  a  dozen  other  young 
women;  Knight  with  a  group  of  men.  They  rode 
forward  thus  to  the  starting-place.  Nor  did  they 
have  much  opportunity  for  conversation  beyond 
the  conventional  greetings,  until  after  the  run 
was  ended.  The  dash  across  country  was  like  any 
other  hunt,  with  no  incidents  beyond  the  ordinary. 
One  or  two  riders  came  a  cropper,  with  no  great 
damage  done.  The  anise-bag  was  finally  run  to 

[62] 


A  DAY  WITH  THE  SPANIARDS 

cover,  and  Jocelyn  and  Prescott  were  well  at  the 
front  when  the  "kill"  was  made. 

For  the  return  trip,  the  straggling  men  and 
women  fell  into  groups  or  pairs,  and  made  their 
way  leisurely  along  the  roads  instead  of  cross- 
country. It  was  inevitable  that  Prescott  should 
be  at  Jocelyn's  side,  and  these  two  presently  found 
themselves  progressing  along  a  road  leading 
through  a  woodland  of  scrub  oaks  and  cedars, 
with  no  other  members  of  the  party  within  sight 
or  hearing. 

As  they  came  into  a  little  glade,  flooded  with 
sunlight  which  cast  picturesque  shadows  along 
the  earth  carpeted  with  moss  and  arbutus,  Pres- 
cott drew  his  horse  in,  and  regarded  his  compan- 
ion at  a  little  distance.  If  she  had  seemed  allur- 
ing on  previous  occasions,  she  was  now  enchant- 
ing. She  sat  her  horse  with  a  grace  born  of  long 
practice  on  the  range.  Her  trim,  lissome  figure 
was  shown  to  perfection  by  her  riding-habit.  Her 
cheeks  had  the  glow  of  health,  her  eyes  gleamed, 
and  her  entire  person  seemed  vibrant  with  pleas- 
urable emotions. 

He  moved  his  horse  close  beside  her. 

"  Jocelyn,  you  are  wonderful  to-day,"  he  mur- 
mured. 

[63] 


"I  was  just  thinking  something  like  that  of 
you,"  she  replied,  with  a  laugh.  Her  eyes  scanned 
his  stalwart  figure  with  frank  admiration.  "You 
make  me  think  of  a  centaur,  you  seem  so  much  a 
part  of  your  horse." 

She  reached  out  her  hand  impulsively  as  she 
spoke.  His  left  joined  it,  the  fingers  intertwined, 
and  they  rode  thus  for  a  little  distance.  Then  of  a 
sudden  he  leaned  far  over  in  the  saddle  toward  her. 

She  drew  back  instantly. 

"Oh,  please!  That  was  not  fair.  Centaurs  are 
not  to  be  trusted,  I  see." 

After  that  she  pulled  her  horse  a  little  to  one 
side,  and  no  longer  let  her  hand  meet  his;  but  the 
spirit  of  the  woods  was  in  her  veins,  and  she  could 
not  find  it  in  her  heart  to  be  angry.  The  touch  of 
Prescott's  hand  had  thrilled  her,  and  caused  her 
cheeks,  already  aglow,  to  take  on  a  yet  warmer  hue. 

"Forgive  me,  Jocelyn,  I  truly  did  not  premedi- 
tate doing  that,"  he  said  penitently.  "But  how 
could  I  help  it?  If  you  could  see  yourself,  could 
know  how  utterly  bewitching,  how  like  an  ador- 
able wood-nymph  you  are  to-day,  you  would  not 
blame  me." 

"I  have  not  said  that  I  blamed  you."  Her 
roguish  laugh  echoed  through  the  woodland. 

[64] 


A  DAY  WITH  THE  SPANIARDS 

"Come;  I  will  beat  you  to  the  big  trees  yonder." 
Giving  rein  to  her  horse  she  darted  ahead  at  a 
pace  that  his  mount,  with  its  extra  weight,,  could 
not  match. 

When  she  checked  her  horse,  and  let  Prescott 
come  again  beside  her,  they  had  passed  through 
the  woodland,  and  were  out  in  the  open  country. 

"Now  I  am  no  longer  a  wood-nymph  and  you 
are  no  longer  a  centaur.  Aren't  you  sorry?  I  am. 
But  out  here  in  the  open  we  are  just  prosaic  peo- 
ple. It  was  rather  scandalous  for  us  to  ride 
through  the  woods  by  ourselves,  to  say  nothing 
of  what  we  did.  So  now  do  you  ride  on  your 
side  of  the  road  and  conduct  yourself  with  grav- 
ity becoming  your  size." 

She  shook  her  finger  banteringly  at  him  as  she 
spoke.  Her  eyes  still  sparkled,  the  blood  still 
glowed  in  her  cheeks,  her  smile  revealed  her  teeth; 
and  the  ensemble  made  so  bewitching  a  personal- 
ity that  Prescott  Knight,  his  blood  atingle,  felt  an 
almost  irresistible  impulse  to  seize  her,  centaur- 
like,  and  dash  with  her — he  cared  not  whither. 

There   was   something   eerie,   elusive,   almost 

supersensual  about  her  in  this  mood.    Prescott 

whimsically  likened  her  to  the  ghost  of  one  of 

those   pleasure-loving   Spanish   ancestors.     But 

5  [65] 


she  was  a  very  corporeal  ghost,  he  reflected,  as  he 
noted  the  graceful  curves  of  her  figure  and  the 
pulsing  undulations  of  her  bosom. 

They  rode  on  for  the  most  part  without  speak- 
ing, happy  in  each  other's  presence.  When  they 
were  joined  presently  by  a  group  of  other  hunters, 
they  responded  casually  to  the  greeting  of  their 
companions,  but  they  were  still  absorbed,  lover- 
like,  with  their  own  thoughts,  and  each  had  eyes 
only  for  the  other. 

As  Prescott  helped  Jocelyn  to  dismount,  he 
held  her  hand  for  a  moment,  and  they  smiled  into 
each  other's  eyes.  A 

.   "I  hope  you  have  enjoyed  the  ride. 

"It  has  been  glorious."  For  a  moment  their 
hands  lingered;  each  felt  the  thrill  of  their  mutual 
contact.  But  they  parted  without  a  word  beyond 
these  banalities. 

A  few  hours  later  they  were  again  together,  in 
the  large  room  where  the  guests  had  assembled 
for  the  hunt  ball.  They  had  circled  the  room 
again  and  again  in  the  waltz,  to  the  seductive 
music  of  the  old  Blue  Danube.  As  the  music 
ceased,  Prescott  led  his  companion  out  on  the 
terrace.  They  found  a  seat  in  a  dark  corner  of 
the  veranda,  where  they  were  quite  by  themselves. 

[66] 


A  DAY  WITH  THE  SPANIARDS 

"Did  you  read  the  verses  I  sent  you  this  eve- 
ning?" he  asked. 

"To  be  sure  I  did-  when  did  you  write 
them?" 

"I  was  inspired  by  our  ride  this  afternoon,  and 
I  wrote  them  immediately  after  our  return." 

"And  I  forthwith  learned  them  by  heart." 

"Did  you?  I'm  immensely  flattered.  Repeat 
them  for  me." 

"If  you  will  promise  to  sit  very  still,  and  not  to 
move  until  I  tell  you  you  may,  I  will  do  it." 

"I  promise." 

Jocelyn  arose  and  stood  in  front  of  him. 

"Your  verses,  Mr.  Poet,"  she  laughed,  "ex- 
press sentiments  that  are  rather  shocking.  It  is 
not  for  me  to  judge  of  the  truth  of  your  words, 
but  I  will  recite  them.  Please  give  attention: 

"Of  all  strange  things  in  a  world  full  strange, 

The  strangest  by  far  is  this: 
That  a  man  will  his  very  soul  exchange 
As  the  price  of  a  woman's  kiss. 

"  'Tis  but  a  trifle — lips  that  part 

And  to  yours  for  a  moment  cling; 
A  form  pressed  to  yours  for  the  beat  of  a  heart — 
Ah,  yes,  'tis  a  trifling  thing! 
[671 


JOCELYN  WEST 

"Yet  crowns  have  been  lost  and  kingdoms  won 

Since  time  began,  I  wis, 
And  honor  bartered  and  fame  undone 
For  this  trifle — a  woman's  kiss. 

"The  wisest  of  men  have  become  as  fools, 

The  bravest  cowards,  the  good  remiss, 
In  the  quest  of  that  which  the  wide  world  rules, — 
A  winsome  face  with  its  lips  that  kiss 

"Oh,  'twere  easy  to  prove  as  the  rule  of  three 

That  these  kissing  lips  are  a  devil's  lure 
To  draw  men  away  from  their  destiny, 
Leading  them  on  to  destruction  sure. 

x 

"  'Twere  easy  to  prove — nay,  it  needs  no  proof, 

That  kissing  lips  breed  sorrow  from  bliss; 
Oh,  the  man  is  a  fool  that  holds  not  aloof, 
From  the  siren-snare  of  a  woman's  kiss! 

"Yet  I  that  have  striven  to  win  a  name 

Through  many  a  task  that  the  soul  equips 
For  higher  flights — I  would  forfeit  fame, 
I  would  barter  each  prize  of  the  whole  world-game, 
For  the  touch  of  one  woman's  lips." 

She  enunciated  softly,  yet  with  distinctness, 
and  her  tones  had  a  caressing  quality  that  added 
to  the  sensuousness  of  the  words.  The  radiant 

[68] 


A  DAY  WITH  THE  SPANIARDS 

face  and  vibrant  figure  of  the  girl  herself  gave  the 
finishing  touch,  to  make  the  lover's  nerves  tingle. 
But  he  remembered  his  promise,  and  restrained 
the  impulse  to  spring  to  his  feet. 

"Am  I  to  understand  that  mv  lips  are  referred 
to — in  that  last  verse?" 

"Assuredly  yours  and  no  other." 

"Then  you  deserve  a  reward.  Remember  your 
promise  not  to  stir." 

She  stooped  suddenly  forward,  put  her  hands 
on  his  shoulders,  and  brought  her  face  close  to  his. 

"You  are  magnificent,  primeval  man,"  she 
whispered.  "I  truly  wish  I  might  kiss  you.  But 
now  that  I  learn  what  a  terrible  thing  a  kiss  is — 
I  dare  not." 

Then  she  sprang  back  with  a  peal  of  laughter 
that  haunted  his  dreams  for  days  to  come.  Glid- 
ing across  the  terrace,  she  was  lost  in  the  com- 
pany of  dancers. 

The  shades  of  the  Spaniards  had  had  their 
inning. 

Knight  arose,  his  heart  throbbing  tumultu- 
ously,  and  followed.  But  for  the  remainder  of  the 
evening  she  eluded  him;  though  once  or  twice 
in  the  dance  as  they  came  near  each  other  their 
eyes  met,  hers  still  full  of  mirth,  his  deep-glowing 

[69] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

with  passion.  For  an  instant  only  he  was  alone 
with  her  in  the  hallway  as  the  guests  were  saying 
good-night. 

She  touched  his  hand  with  hers,  gave  it  the 
slightest  perceptible  pressure,  smiled  roguishly, 
showing  her  gleaming  teeth;  half  whispered, 
"Buenos  noches,  Amigo  mio,"  and  was  gone. 


[70] 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  PURITANS 

In  his  room  after  the  hunt  ball,  Prescott  Knight 
sat  for  hours,  his  heart  aflame  and  his  head 
awhirl.  As  usual,  the  emotional  stimulus  gave 
him  the  impulse  to  write.  He  seized  a  pen,  and 
jotted  down  the  thoughts  that  crowded  in  upon 
his  excited  brain.  He  had  caught  for  the  first 
time  to-day  a  glimpse  of  the  personality  of  yet 
another  Jocelyn — Jocelyn  the  wood-nymph,  the 
primeval  woman,  the  adorable  daughter  of 
Aphrodite. 

For  a  time  he  could  think  of  her  only  thus;  but 
presently  there  came  as  a  background  for  his 
thoughts  the  sense  of  her  mental  traits,  her  moral 
standards,  her  spirituality,  as  revealed  in  their 
earlier  acquaintance.  A  full  appreciation  of  her 
marvelously  rounded  personality  came  to  him. 

Then  he  was  led  to  reflect  on  his  own  dual  per- 
sonality— on  the  two  utterly  antagonistic  im- 
pulses that  had  actuated  him  in  his  desire  to  pos- 

[71] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

sess  this  most  adorable  woman.  As  his  thoughts 
shaped  themselves,  he  began  putting  them  on 
paper,  and  the  conceit  came  to  him  to  transcribe 
them  in  the  form  of  a  dialogue  between  the  two 
opposing  selves  of  which  he  was  conscious — the 
intellectual  self,  which  thought  of  Jocelyn  as  a 
mind,  a  spirit,  a  sympathetic  companion;  and 
the  primitive  self  which  had  to-day  been  held  in 
thraldom  by  the  physical  personality  of  his 
enamorata. 

"You  are  magnificent,  primeval  man,"  Jocelyn 
the  wood-nymph  had  said  to  him,  as  her  hands 
for  a  moment  rested  on  his  shoulders,  out  there 
on  the  terrace.  But  another  personality  had 
touched  his  hand  and  said  "Good-night,  my 
friend,"  at  the  stairway  an  hour  later.  Then  she 
had  seemed  ethereal,  spirituelle,  intellectual,  and 
her  friendliness  had  had  an  element  of  reserve 
such  as  had  marked  it  in  their  earlier  acquaint- 
ance. This  last  impression  of  the  girl  came 
into  the  foreground  of  his  mind  as  he  began 
writing.  • 

What  he  wrote   followed    the    shifting    tenor 

of    his    thoughts.      He    captioned    his    musings 

with    the    title:     "Dialogue    of    the   man    In- 

tellecto  and   his  alter-ego  Primitive"-    and  he 

,   [72]  / 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  PURITANS 

represented  the  two  antagonistic  personalities 
as  praising  in  turn  the  different  aspects  of 
Jocelyn's  personality. 

His  emotions  were  colored  by  the  lover's  nat- 
ural figure  of  speech,  and  some  of  Primitive's 
outbursts  were  too  impassioned  to  be  reproduced 
for  the  eyes  of  a  reading  public  accustomed 
to  the  chaperonage,  so  to  speak,  of  prudish 
traditions. 

But  in  the  end,  as  at  the  beginning,  the  more 
intellectual  and  spiritual  element  of  his  own  na- 
ture was  in  the  ascendancy,  and  the  truer  depths 
of  his  affection  found  expression  in  the  rhap- 
sodies with  which  Intellecto  was  made  to  meet 
the  more  material  and  passionate  outbursts  of 
Primitive. 

Thus  Intellecto  was  represented  as  depicting 
the  physical  charms  of  his  enamorata  in  such 
terms  as  these: 

"Ah,  how  her  sweet  face  haunts  me!  How  my 
heart  throbs  as  I  seem  to  hear  the  rich  modula- 
tions of  her  voice!  Her  merry  laugh  rings  in  my 
ears.  I  can  feel  the  pulsing  cadence  of  her  tones 
as  she  recites  a  ballad  of  Thackeray,  or  the  virile 
strains  of  the  Yukon  poet.  I  see  deep  into  her 
eyes,  and  her  soul  seems  revealed.  I  recall  the 

[73] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

spontaneous    smile;     the    warm,    tender    hand- 
clasp "- 

And  when  Primitive  interrupts  to  call  atten- 
tion to  the  more  sensuous  aspects  of  her  person- 
ality— "The  provocative  sinuousness  of  waist- 
line; the  entrancing  taper  of  agile  limbs,"  and  the 
like,  Intellecto  urges: 

"I  do  not  wish  to  think  of  Jocelyn  thus.  I 
think  of  her  as  a  mind,  a  soul,  a  spirit:  a  mind 
marvelously  intuitive,  aspiring  after  knowledge, 
interested  in  my  work,  seeking  channels  of  self- 
expression;  a  soul  attuned  to  the  beautiful  in 
nature,  swept  by  noble  emotions;  a  spirit  instinct 
with  altruistic  impulses,  yearning  after  high 
ideals,  striving  for  self-betterment  and  for  the 
betterment  of  those  about  her." 

There  was  much  more  in  kind;  but  these 
glimpses  suffice  to  show  the  highly  emotional 
state  of  mind  in  which  the  day  had  left  Jocelyn's 
lover,  and  the  depth  and  sincerity  of  the  affection 
with  which  the  girl  had  inspired  him. 

While  Prescott  Knight  was  recording  his  dis- 
cordant emotions  in  this  half-poetical  fashion, 
Jocelyn  Madero  was  engaged — as  was  doubtless 
natural  enough — in  a  not  altogether  dissimilar 
task  of  self-analysis.  Unlike  her  admirer,  she  did 

[74] 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  PURITANS 

not  put  her  thoughts  on  paper;  but  she 
dramatized  them  in  an  even  more  spectacular 
fashion. 

The  young  woman,  rather  curiously  for  one  of 
her  sex,  had  given  a  good  deal  of  attention  to  the 
study  of  heredity.  It  was  this,  doubtless,  that 
had  led  her,  when  talking  with  Knight,  to  conjure 
up  the  figures  of  a  galaxy  of  Puritan  ancestors  op- 
posing a  smaller  group  of  Spanish  progenitors. 
She  had  read  enough  about  the  newest  and  most 
popular  phase  of  heredity  to  think  of  all  the  traits 
of  body  and  mind  as  being  grouped  in  antago- 
nistic pairs,  each,  as  it  were,  fighting  for  self-ex- 
pression. 

So  now  as  she  contemplated  the  events  of  the 
day  that  was  coming  to  a  close,  she  seemed  to  see 
before  her  that  host  of  Puritan  forebears,  trans- 
mitting along  the  line  of  descent,  and  finally  to 
her — the  helpless  recipient  of  their  tendencies — 
the  traits  of  mind  that  go  to  make  up  the  austere, 
precise,  New  England  character.  These  traits 
she  had  recognized  in  her  own  instinctive  tenden- 
cies. Using  the  popular  phrasing,  she  had  often 
spoken  of  them  to  herself  as  the  "dominant" 
traits  of  her  character. 

But  she  had  been  conscious  also  that  other  traits 
[751 


JOCELYN  WEST 

of  a  quite  different  type  were  half-concealed 
back  of  these  puritanical  ones — the  traits  of 
a  vivacious  and  pleasure-loving  personality. 
These  traits  she  had  laughingly  referred  to,  still 
using  the  conventional  phrasing,  as  the  "reces- 
sive" propensities  of  her  character;  and  they  con- 
stituted her  heritage,  she  felt  well  assured,  from 
the  galaxy  of  Spaniards  that  specifically  repre- 
sented the  forebears  of  her  paternal  grandmother. 

This  Spanish  host  seemed  now  marshalled 
before  her  mind's  eye  as  she  stood  musing,  slowly 
disrobing,  in  her  room  after  the  hunt  ball. 

"You  have  had  your  innings  to-day,  my  be- 
loved ancestors,"  she  said,  with  a  mock  bow  of 
salutation. 

As  she  spoke,  she  chanced  to  catch  a  glimpse 
of  herself  in  a  large  mirror  that  revealed  her  half- 
disrobed  figure.  The  electric  light  fell  full  on  her, 
and  feature  and  outline  were  repeated  with  the 
fidelity  and  vividness  of  reality  itself  in  the  plate- 
glass  image. 

Jocelyn  regarded  the  lissome  figure  with  ap- 
proval. She  noted  the  cheeks,  still  flushed  from 
the  exhilaration  of  the  dance,  the  eyes  asparkle. 
Her  bare  arms  flashed  white  as  she  now  extended 
them  and  raised  them  above  her  head,  as  if  hold- 

[76] 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  PURITANS 

ing  the  castanet  with  which  she  was  wont  to 
accompany  herself  when  she  danced  the  taran- 
tella. She  assumed  the  attitude  of  the  dance,  her 
head  thrown  back,  her  body  poised,  revealing  a 
most  enticing  contour. 

Posing  thus,  she  tossed  her  head,  made  a  quick 
foot-thrust  or  two,  swayed  her  body  as  in  the 
dance,  moved  her  arms  languorously,  and  smiled 
at  her  own  image  till  her  teeth  shone  white  and 
her  dark  eyes  were  lustrous,  soul-revealing  depths. 

Then  she  laughed  softly,  made  a  low  obeisance, 
and  said  aloud,  addressing  the  image: 

"Yes,  I  know  you  full  well.  You  are  Jocelyn 
West — otherwise  Senorita  Natura,  child  of  Span- 
ish gallants  and  pleasure-loving  ladies.  You  are 
a  born  coquette,  a  flirt;  a  type  of  femininity;  a 
lover  of  life,  of  things  sensual;  a  reveller  in  the 
beauties  of  nature;  a  being  of  warm  flesh  and 
pulsing  blood.  To-day  has  been  for  you  a  day  of 
life,  of  triumph;  but  wait — you  are  under  sur- 
veillance." 

She  raised  her  finger  as  if  in  warning;  and  as 
she  did  so  she  half  turned,  and  extended  her  hand 
toward  the  opposite  side  of  the  room,  where  an- 
other mirror,  panelled  in  a  wardrobe,  revealed 
again  the  full  contour  of  her  figure. 

[771 


JOCELYN  WEST 

By  a  curious  effect  of  light,  the  entire  appear- 
ance of  this  second  reflection  was  in  utter  con- 
trast with  the  first.  One  showed  Jocelyn's  figure 
bathed  in  light,  aglow  with  color.  The  other  re- 
vealed her  all  in  shadow.  The  effect  was  natural 
enough — was  indeed  inevitable,  as  all  the  lights 
were  at  the  side  of  the  room  where  the  first  mirror 
was  placed.  Yet  the  result,  to  one  in  Jocelyn's 
mood,  was  distinctly  startling.  Looking  now  at 
the  second  image,  she  beheld  the  same  contour  as 
before;  but  a  figure  painted  as  it  were  in  flat 
shadow;  a  face  devoid  of  color. 

The  very  aspect  of  the  figure  seemed  changed, 
as  Jocelyn,  half  startled  by  the  contrast,  added 
to  it  by  assuming  an  involuntary  attitude  of  sur- 
prise, almost  of  fear.  The  face  in  the  mirror  took 
on  an  expression  of  austerity. 

She  regarded  this  second  apparition  fixedly  for 
several  moments,  her  face  becoming  more  and 
more  grave.  Then  with  a  beckoning  movement 
behind  her,  as  if  to  call  to  her  side  the  image  of 
the  first  mirror,  she  said  slowly: 

"  There,  fair  Sefiorita  Natura;  behold  your 
Nemesis !  This  severe-seeming  lady  who  is  watch- 
ing you,  bears,  by  a  curious  paradox,  the  Spanish 
name  Senora  Madero;  otherwise,  let  me  see;  ah, 

[78] 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  PURITANS 

yes,  I  recall,  she  is  Mistress  Aspera;  daughter  of 
the  Puritans;  being  of  mind  and  morals  rather 
than  of  flesh  and  blood.  With  her  must  you 
reckon.  This  day  you  have  ignored  and  defied 
her.  Imagine  her  feelings  when  you  came  through 
the  woodland  there,  alone  with  a  Man;  but  let 
us  not  even  try  to  imagine  what  they  were  when 
you  let  that  man  hold  your  hand.  Oh,  do  you 
see  the  blood  coming  to  her  pale  cheeks  even  now 
at  the  recollection? 

"And  as  to  your  conduct  of  the  evening — out 
there  on  the  terrace — ah,  let  us  not  think  of  it, 
much  less  speak  of  it.  Long  and  dreadful  must  be 
your  penance  for  that  unpardonable  sin.  Mistress 
Aspera  will  counsel  you,  upbraid  you,  and  pray 
over  you  by  the  hour,  ere  that  transgression  is 
forgiven  and  forgotten." 

As  the  soliloquy  continued,  Jocelyn's  voice 
had  become  more  and  more  grave  and  serious. 
Her  own  mood  reflected  the  mood  of  the  figure 
in  the  shadow.  She  felt  a  sudden  twinge  of  con- 
science at  the  remembrance  of  the  day's  trans- 
gressions. The  recollection  of  her  true  position, 
which  she  had  purposely  banished,  came  back  to 
her  with  full  force.  She  suppressed  a  sigh  that 
was  half  a  sob.  Then  she  turned  away  from  the 

[79] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

mirror,  and  impulsively  touched  the  button  ex- 
tinguishing the  lights. 

"Natura  and  Aspera;  child  of  Nature  and 
daughter  of  the  Puritans,  I  bid  you  good-night," 
she  said.  "  I,  Jocelyn  West  Madero,  am  going  out 
to  commune  with  the  stars." 

She  slipped  on  a  soft  fleecy  coat  and  stepped 
out  on  the  little  balcony.  It  was  one  of  those 
clear  dark  nights  when  each  star  reveals  itself  in 
the  vault  with  diamond-like  brilliancy,  and  when, 
alone  beneath  the  stars,  one  feels  in  the  midst  of 
sympathetic  friends. 

Jocelyn's  mind  had  now  reacted  from  the  exal- 
tation of  the  day,  and  a  deep-seated,  haunting 
sense  of  apprehension  and  sadness  brooded  over 
her  spirit.  The  words  of  Going's  poem  came  to 
her  lips: 

"  Star-glow  and  song — they  melt  from  sound  and  sight, 

The  great  infinity  enfolds  them  round 
In  darkness  yet  more  beautiful  than  light 
And  silence  more  harmonious  than  sound. 

"So  may  we  pass,  in  wonder  and  afar, 

When  the  slow  curtains  of  the  night  are  drawn, 
To  sleep  beyond  the  star-dusk  and  the  star — 
To  waking  that  is  stranger  than  the  dawn!" 
[80] 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  PURITANS 

As  she  slowly  recited  these  words,  she  found 
herself  brooding  over  the  realities  of  her  position. 
Her  thoughts  went  out  to  Prescott  Knight;  to 
the  might-have-beens  that  his  nearness  evoked; 
and  she  felt  herself  wishing  that  her  spirit  might 
in  very  truth  be  transported  "  beyond  the  star- 
dusk  and  the  star" — be  its  final  destiny  a  "strange 
waking"  or  an  eternity  of  oblivion. 

She  was  too  young  and  too  buoyant,  however, 
to  remain  long  hi  this  mood.  Presently,  by  a  curi- 
ous antithesis,  the  words  of  the  childhood  jingle, 
"Twinkle,  twinkle,  little  star,  How  I  wonder  what 
you  are,"  came  into  her  mind,  and  she  recited  the 
lines  over  and  over  until  she  found  herself  think- 
ing of  their  meaning,  and  actually  wondering 
about  the  stars.  She  knew  just  enough  of  astron- 
omy to  understand  that  the  stars  are  distant  suns, 
perhaps  the  centers  of  planetary  systems. 

As  she  gazed  at  the  seeming  thousands  of  these 
that  were  revealed  above  her,  a  sense  of  her  own 
littleness — of  the  inconsequence  of  her  life;  of  the 
life  of  any  mortal — came  to  her,  and  with  it  a 
momentary  balm. 

While  this  mood  lasted  she  went  inside,  hastily 
disrobed,  and  sprang  into  bed. 

But  now,  alone  in  the  dark,  the  exalted  mood 


JOCELYN  WEST 

of  the  starlight  no  longer  supported  her.  The 
realities  of  the  little  world  of  ourselves — of  here 
and  now — made  themselves  felt,  and  insistently 
paraded  before  her  mental  view.  For  hours  she 
could  not  sleep.  Her  thoughts  during  that  long 
vigil  reviewed  all  the  salient  events  of  her  past, 
and  conjured  unhappy  predictions  as  to  her  future. 

One  conclusion  made  itself  clearer  and  clearer 
to  her  as  she  brooded  through  the  still  hours  of 
the  night.  She  must  obey  the  call  of  her  Puritan 
ancestors.  Of  that  there  could  be  no  doubt.  And 
this  meant — so  she  well  knew,  though  she  tried 
hard  to  reason  herself  away  from  the  knowledge 
— that  she  must  give  up  seeing  Prescott  Knight 
once  and  for  all. 

The  thought  of  this  sacrifice  cut  her  to  the 
quick;  yet  she  knew  that  therein  lay  her  only 
safety. 

Finally,  just  as  day  was  breaking,  she  arose; 
secured  pen  and  paper;  and  hurriedly  wrote  a 
letter;  folded  without  reading  it,  and  addressed 
the  envelope  to  "Prescott  Knight,  Esq." 

Then  she  went  back  to  bed,  and  presently  fell 
asleep.  And  no  doubt  the  galaxy  of  New  England 
ancestors,  having  looked  over  her  shoulder  as  she 
wrote  the  letter,  breathed  ghostly  sighs  of  relief. 

[821 


But  the  Spanish  hosts,  by  the  same  token,  may  be 
supposed  to  have  risen  up  in  angry,  though  futile, 
remonstrance.  For  the  letter  she  had  written  was 
this: 

"My  DEAR  FRIEND:  I  have  hardly  closed 
my  eyes  thinking  over  the  events  of  the  day,  and 
I  am  writing  to  tell  you  that  which  I  find  it  hard 
to  say,  yet  which  I  know  is  for  the  best. 

"We  must  not  go  on  seeing  each  other. 

"It  is  not  fair  to  you  or  to  me.  Surely  we  can 
both  see  whither  we  are  drifting,  and  I  cannot 
be  reconciled  to  adopt  your  point  of  view,  i  So 
I  am  asking  you  to  release  me  from  the  dinner- 
engagement  we  made  for  next  Monday,  and  I 
take  it  that  you,  who  understand  all  things, 
will  be  gracious  about  it. 

"I  do  not  want  to  inflict  pain,  nor  do  you 
either,  but  please  believe  me,  this  is  for  the 
best. 

"Always  sincerely, 

"JOCELYN  MADERO." 


[83] 


CHAPTER  VII 

JOCELYN  IN  QUEST  OF  LIBERTY 

Prescott  Knight  received  Jocelyn's  letter  in 
town  that  Monday  morning.  He  broke  the  seal 
with  the  most  pleasurable  anticipations.  The 
shock  he  received  from  the  contents  was  propor- 
tionately severe.  He  was  for  a  time  dumbfounded, 
stunned. 

When  at  last  he  recovered  sufficiently,  he  wrote 
letter  after  letter  in  response,  tearing  up  each  in 
turn. 

At  last  in  desperation  he  scrawled  a  few  lines  in 
which  he  said  that,  after  hours  of  mental  turmoil, 
he  had  reached  a  point  of  relative  calm,  in  which 
he  could  see  with  a  certain  clearness.  He  recog- 
nized the  reality  of  the  dangers  of  their  position; 
the  realities  of  the  phantoms  that  hovered  over 
them. 

Yet  he  made  an  appeal — a  passionate  appeal 
— to  Jocelyn  to  reconsider  her  decision;  to  let 
them  try  to  be  friends  in  the  purest  sense. 

[84] 


JOCELYN  IN  QUEST  OF  LIBERTY 

He  dispatched  the  letter  by  a  messenger;  and 
paced  his  room  for  an  hour  or  two — days  they 
seemed — till  the  messenger  returned. 

The  letter  he  brought  was  this: 

"AMIGO  Mio:  What  can  I  say  to  your  let- 
ter beside  acknowledging  its  tenderness  and 
sincerity? 

"My  pen  fails  to  keep  pace  with  my  thoughts 
that  rush  madly,  chaotically,  nowhere;  and 
after  the  same  'mental  turmoil'  of  which  you 
speak,  in  my  hour  of  calmness,  I  find  my  decision 
unalterable — notwithstanding  the  plea  that  you 
so  ably  make. 

"Do  you  go  back  to  your  work  with  a  keener 
zest,  saying  that  the  little  Senora  was  only  an 
episode,  soon  to  be  forgotten." 

Prescott  read  and  re-read  the  letter;  and  his 
whole  world  seemed  turned  topsy-turvy.  But  he 
did  not  at  first  rebel  against  the  mandates  of  the 
letter.  The  words  seemed  inexorable. 

He  did  not  feel  that  he  could  even  telephone 
to  Jocelyn;  he  feared  that  he  could  not  control 
his  voice.  So  he  brooded  darkly  over  the  injus- 
tice of  the  Fates  for  an  entire  day. 

The  following  day  he  resolved  to  make  one 
more  effort  to  fight  against  the  current.  Sum- 

[85] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

moning  all  his  resolution,  he  took  down  the  tele- 
phone receiver  and  called  for  Jocelyn's  number. 

A  strange  voice,  replying,  told  him  that  Senora 
Madero  and  her  maid  had  gone  from  New  York 
for  an  indefinite  period;  and  had  not  left  an  ad- 
dress except  that  of  her  banker.  Prescott  called 
up  the  bank  and  was  assured,  politely  but  firmly, 
that  the  custodians  of  Senora  Madero's  property 
were  not  authorized  to  give  her  address.  Th'ey 
would,  however,  forward  any  mail  that  was  sent 
her.  Prescott  hung  up  the  telephone  receiver  in 
despair. 

In  point  of  fact,  Jocelyn's  sudden  action  had 
been  resolved  upon  partly  by  way  of  seeking  safety 
in  flight,  partly  to  carry  out  the  project  of  a  seem- 
ing forlorn  hope. 

Convinced  of  the  futility  of  further  correspond- 
ence, she  had  suddenly  resolved  to  go  to  the 
ranch  and  make  a  personal  appeal  to  her  husband. 

She  had  many  misgivings  about  the  project; 
and  she  shrunk  from  the  thought  of  seeing  Juan, 
as  from  the  touch  of  some  loathsome  thing. 

But  the  overmastering  desire  to  be  free,  and 
the  conviction  that  by  no  possibility  could  she 
attain  this  end  without  a  personal  interview  with 
the  man  who  held  her  in  bondage,  led  her  finally 

[86] 


JOCELYN  IN  QUEST  OF  LIBERTY 

to  put  aside  all  scruples  and  to  out-argue  her  own 
apprehensions. 

Having  decided  to  go,  she  acted  with  charac- 
teristic energy  and  celerity. 

"We  are  going  on  a  journey  to  the  West,"  she 
announced  to  her  maid.  "We  shall  be  gone  at 
least  a  month,  perhaps  longer.  We  start  this 
afternoon.  Please  get  everything  ready  at  once." 

On  board  the  Twentieth  Century  Limited  that 
afternoon  they  were  starting  for  the  West,  almost 
at  the  very  moment  when  Knight  was  reading 
Jocelyn's  second  letter. 

The  trip  was  tiresome  but  devoid  of  incident. 
On  the  morning  of  the  third  day  they  arrived  at 
the  railway  station  nearest  the  ranch.  They  were 
still  fifty  miles  from  their  destination,  but  an  au- 
tomobile was  engaged  to  take  them  four-fifths  of 
the  journey,  to  the  little  town  only  six  or  eight 
miles  from  the  ranch. 

It  pleased  Jocelyn's  fancy  to  make  the  remain- 
der of  the  journey  on  horseback.  Merely  to  sit 
in  the  saddle  always  tended  to  exhilarate  her,  and 
she  felt  that  a  gallop  across  the  mesa  would  the 
better  prepare  her  for  the  interview  that  she 
dreaded  none  the  less  because  it  was  of  her  own 
seeking.  Marcellina  was  also  an  excellent  horse- 

[87] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

woman,  and  she  decided  to  accompany  her  mis- 
tress on  horseback.  So,  directing  the  chauffeur  to 
await  their  return,  the  two  women  mounted,  and 
were  soon  galloping  along  the  well-remembered 
road  leading  to  the  ranch. 

They  had  ridden  four  or  five  miles,  when,  as 
they  turned  a  corner  in  the  road,  Jocelyn  saw 
a  horseman  coming  toward  them,  whom  she 
instantly  recognized  as  her  husband.  She 
braced  herself  for  the  ordeal.  She  hoped  that 
her  face  would  not  reveal  the  real  state  of  her 
feelings;  for  she  went  hot  and  cold  alternately, 
and  her  heart  thumped  till  she  feared  it  must 
be  audible. 

As  Juan  drew  near,  she  saw  that  he  had  not 
noticeably  altered  in  the  two  years  that  had 
elapsed  since  she  had  seen  him.  He  was  hand- 
some and  debonnair  as  ever,  his  moustache  waxed 
and  curled,  his  eyes  flashing  black,  with  the  cold 
glitter  of  steel. 

As  he  raised  his  sombrero,  she  noted  that 
his  hair  had  thinned;  but  there  was  no  other 
visible  evidence  that  he  had  changed  for  better 
or  worse. 

His  manner  had  all  the  old-time  Spanish  gal- 
lantry. As  he  came  close  he  hailed  her  with  a 

[88] 


JOCELYN  IN  QUEST  OF  LIBERTY 

term  of  endearment,  and  leaned  forward  as  if  to 
kiss  her. 

She  drew  back  quickly  in  the  saddle,  but  gave 
him  her  gloved  hand  and  responded  to  his  greet- 
ing with  as  much  of  seeming  cordiality  as  she  could 
summon. 

After  all,  she  had  come  to  seek  a  favor,  and  she 
must  propitiate  the  man  on  whose  answer  all  her 
future  happiness  seemed  to  depend.  But  she  had 
no  wish  to  postpone  matters.  So  she  nodded  to 
her  maid  to  check  in  her  horse  a  little,  and  allowed 
Madero  to  ride  at  her  side.  She  addressed  him 
quite  calmly: 

"Juan,  it  is  not  necessary  to  tell  you  why  I  have 
come.  I  am  here  to  say  to  you,  what  I  have  so 
often  written,  that  I  am  ready  to  make  any  finan- 
cial sacrifice  in  order  to  have  my  freedom.  I 
thought  by  coming  in  person  I  could  sign  any 
papers  that  may  be  necessary." 

"So  you  have  found  some  man  you  like  better 
than  your  husband."  He  spoke  slowly,  putting  a 
peculiar  emphasis  on  the  last  word. 

"I  have  not  said  so,  Juan.  It  is  not  a  question 
of  someone  else,  so  much  as  of  being  free.  You 
know  we  can  never  be  anything  to  each  other 
again.  It  is  not  fair  to  you  that  you  should  be 

[89] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

bound  to  me,  any  more  than  it  is  fair  that  I  should 
be  bound  to  you." 

"I  see  no  unfairness  in  the  proposition  from 
either  side,  my  dear  wife."  He  drawled  the  last 
words  with  a  most  exasperating  insistence.  "We 
are  married  and  belong  to  each  other.  I  have  at 
no  time  wished  for  what  you  call  freedom.  I  ask 
only  that  you  return  here  to  your  home,  to  take 
up  the  old  life  as  your  plain  duty  demands." 

"You  know  that  is  utterly  impossible,  Juan; 
let  us  not  even  refer  to  it.  Let  us  only  discuss  the 
terms  on  which  you  are  willing  to  release  me." 

"I  do  not  like  your  choice  of  words,  querida 
mm.  There  is  no  question  of  'release.'  You  are 
not  a  captive;  you  are  my  lawful  wife.  It  is  my 
duty  as  well  as  pleasure  to  provide  for  you,  to 
love  and  cherish  you  as  long  as  I  live.  Whom 
God  hath  united,  no  man  can  put  asunder.  That, 
as  you  know,  is  the  mandate  of  the  mother  church 
under  whose  sanction  we  were  married.  ; 

"But  come,  my  dear,  what  manner  of  greet- 
ing is  this  for  husband  and  wife  who  have  not  seen 
each  other  for  two  years?  Tell  me  about  yourself. 
There  is  no  need  to  ask  if  you  are  well — your  looks 
are  sponsor  for  that.  You  must  tell  me  of  all 
you  have  done;  of  the  interesting  people  you 

[90] 


JOCELYN  IN  QUEST  OF  LIBERTY 

have  met.  One  leads  a  lonely  life  here  on  the 
mesa,  as  you  know,  and  your  stories  will  be  a 
boon." 

Jocelyn  bit  her  lip  in  chagrin  and  anger.  "  Juan, 
can  you  not  be  reasonable?"  she  said,  when  she 
could  control  her  voice. 

"I  can  and  will  be  not  only  reasonable,  but 
generous  and  forgiving.  If  you  prefer  not  to  talk 
of  your  experiences,  I  will  ask  nothing  about  them. 
I  will  not  ask  you  to  mention  the  name  of  a  single 
friend  you  may  have  met  in  the  outside  world, 
or  to  talk  of  a  single  incident.  We  will  take  up 
the  old  life  just  where  we  left  it,  and  as  if  you  had 
been  away  for  a  ten  days'  visit  instead  of  for  two 
years.  So  be  it;  all  is  forgotten.  Let  us  talk  of 
the  weather  and  the  crops." 

"Juan,  there  is  only  one  subject  of  which  I  wish 
to  talk.  I  have  already  told  you  what  that  is." 

"And  that  chances  to  be  the  only  subject  about 
which  I  must  refuse  to  talk. 

Jocelyn  suddenly  halted  her  horse,  and  turned 
it  about. 

"Then  there  is  no  need  for  me  to  go  on.  I  know 
there  is  no  use  in  appealing  to  your  sympathy  or 
your  compassion.  I  did  think  that  by  offering 
to  give  you  my  share  in  the  property,  you  might, 

[91J 


JOCELYN  WEST 

as  a  business  proposition,  give  me  my  liberty. 
As  you  are  not  interested,  I  shall  bid  you  '  Good- 
bye.' " 

This  unexpected  turn  of  affairs  brought  Juan 
into  another  mood.  He  had  no  mind  to  let 
Jocelyn  slip  away  from  him  so  easily.  So,  like  a 
true  Spaniard,  he  adopted  evasive  tactics. 

"Come,  come,  Jocelyn,"  he  expostulated;  "I 
have  not  said  that  I  will  not  do  as  you  wish. 
Certainly  I  shall  not  refuse  to  discuss  the  matter 
with  you.  But  let  us  wait  till  we  are  at  the  house. 
Let  us  then  call  in  Padre  Francisco  and  ask  his 
advice.  You  know  we  can  do  nothing  without 
his  co-operation."  , 

Jocelyn  realized  the  truth  of  the  last  allegation, 
little  as  she  trusted  the  preamble  of  the  speech. 
She  reflected  that  she  would  at  least  be  no  worse 
off  for  seeing  the  priest.  And  it  was  not  her  na- 
ture to  leave  a  task  half  completed,  or  to  give  up 
without  having  made  every  possible  effort,  so  she 
turned  her  horse's  head  and  rode  on,  saying 
simply: 

"Very  well;  I  will  see  the  Padre.  Will  you 
ride  ahead,  please,  and  summon  him;  for  I  have 
no  time  to  lose." 

Juan  thought  it  best  to  accede  to  her  request; 
[92]  , 


JOCELYN  IN  QUEST  OF  LIBERTY 

so  telling  her  to  ride  directly  to  the  house,  he 
raised  his  sombrero  and  galloped  off. 

"You  are  not  so  pressed  for  tune  as  you  think, 
my  fine  lady,"  he  muttered  to  himself  as  he  rode 
away.  "A  bird  in  the  hand  may  find  it  hard  to 
get  back  to  the  bush.  We  shall  see.' 


[93] 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WHOM  GOD  HATH  JOINED 

A  flood  of  memories  threatened  to  overmaster 
Jocelyn,  as  she  rode  up  to  the  house  to  which  she 
had  first  come  as  a  bride  five  years  ago,  and  which 
she  had  left,  vowing  never  to  return,  a  few  months 
later. 

Nothing  about  the  place  seemed  to  have 
changed.  The  man  who  came  to  take  their  horses 
touched  his  sombrero  as  if  the  Senora  had  merely 
come  from  a  morning's  ride;  and  none  of  the 
servants  manifested  the  slightest  surprise  at  seeing 
her. 

She  waited  in  the  living-room  and  Juan  pres- 
ently came  with  the  priest. 

"Perhaps  you  would  like  to  speak  alone  with 
Padre  Francisco,"  Juan  suggested  with  seeming 
deference,  after  the  greetings  were  over. 

"I  should  think  it  better  for  you  to  be  present, 
as  the  interview  chiefly  concerns  you." 

[94] 


WHOM  GOD  HATH  JOINED 

"I  will  return  presently.  I  have  one  or  two 
things  to  attend  to." 

"Do  not  be  gone  long,  please;  for  we  must  set 
out  again  within  an  hour." 

"I  will  see  that  your  horses  are  looked  after, 
and  return." 

As  Juan  left  them  the  priest  turned  to  Jocelyn 
with  a  smile  that  was  intended  to  express  at  once 
benevolence  and  friendliness,  but  which  sug- 
gested quite  different  emotions. 

"I  am  delighted  at  your  return,  Senora.  We 
have  missed  you  greatly.  Surely  you  must  be 
tired  of  journeying,  now,  and  glad  to  be  at  home 
again." 

Jocelyn  ignored  his  words,  knowing  that  he 
understood  the  situation  perfectly. 

"Padre  Francisco,  let  us  speak  to  the  point.  I 
have  come  back  only  to  beg  Sefior  Madero  to  re- 
lease me.  My  remaining  here  is  not  even  in  ques- 
tion. I  return  in  an  hour.  I  seek  your  aid  with 
reference  to  the  details  that  may  be  necessary  to 
effect  the  annulment  of  our  marriage." 

The  priest  raised  his  hand  in  an  attitude  of 
deprecation. 

"Oh,  Senora,  these  are  very  serious  words.  I 
am  shocked  and  grieved  to  hear  vou  say  them. 

[95] 


Surely  you  are  aware  that  the  Church  does  not 
countenance  the  separation  of  husband  and  wife. 
'Whom  God  hath  united  no  man  may  put 
asunder.'. " 

He  had  drawn  his  chair  close  in  front  of  her  as 
he  spoke,  and  now  his  hand  rested  on  hers,  which 
she  could  not  withdraw  without  palpable  rude- 
ness. 

"I  have  always  loved  you,  Senora — as  a  daugh- 
ter," he  said,  slowly;  but  there  seemed  nothing 
paternal  in  the  expression  of  his  eyes. 

"I  have  grieved  at  your  absence,  and  it  re- 
joiced my  heart  when  Juan  told  me  that  you  had 
returned.  I  little  thought  your  coming  had  such 
a  meaning." 

He  paused,  and  seemed  to  reflect,  looking 
straight  in  her  eyes. 

"Tell  me,  my  daughter,  why  do  you  seek  to 
annul  your  marriage?  Is  it  that  your  heart  has 
turned  towards  some  man  other  than  your  hus- 
band?" 

"Father  Francisco,  I  cannot  discuss  the  mat- 
ter," she  cried  impatiently.  "You  know  I  am  not 
of  your  faith,  and  this  is  not  a  confessional.  It  is 
enough  that  I  cannot  and  will  not  live  with  Senor 
Madero;  and  that  I  wish  to  give  him  his  freedom 

[96] 


WHOM  GOD  HATH  JOINED 

and  to  regain  my  own.  The  question  is,  Will  you 
help  to  secure  it?" 

She  pushed  her  chair  back  and  rose  as  she  spoke, 
feeling  his  nearness  intolerable. 

At  that  moment  Juan  appeared  at  the  door. 
Jocelyn's  back  was  towards  him,  but  the  priest  saw 
him  and  he  slightly  raised  his  voice  as  he  said: 
"Whatever  your  motive,  Sefiora,  you  must  un- 
derstand once  and  for  all  that  we  cannot  coun- 
tenance the  thing  you  suggest.  Your  husband 
cannot  release  you.  You  are  his  wife.  You 
have  sworn  to  love,  honor,  and  obey  him.  The 
Church  cannot  make  you  love  and  honor;  but 
the  laws  make  sure  that  you  shall  obey.  Look 
ahead,  Sefiora.  You  are  young  and  years  are 
before  you.  You  are  bound  for  life  to  Juan 
Madero.  Whom  God  hath  united  no  man  may 
put  asunder." 

"Well  spoken,  Padre."  At  the  words  Jocelyn 
turned,  and  became  aware  of  the  reason  for  the 
change  in  the  Padre's  tone  and  manner. 

"I  urge  you,  my  daughter,"  the  priest  con- 
tinued, "to  take  up  your  life  here  with  your  hus- 
band, comforting  his  bed  and  board  as  is  your 
wifely  duty.  There  is  no  other  hope  of  happiness 
for  you  in  this  world  or  the  next.  The  Church 
7  [97] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

has  so  decreed  it;   all  human  society  is  built  on 
that  decree." 

"You  hear  what  he  says,  Jocelyn,"  said  Juan. 
"His  words,  as  you  know,  are  final.  I  could  do 
nothing,  even  if  I  wished  to  interfere.  Our  lot  is 
cast  together;  come  and  take  your  share  in  it.  I 
repeat  that  I  will  ask  nothing  about  your  absence. 
All  shall  be  as  in  the  old  days." 

He  turned  towards  the  priest. 

"Padre,  I  am  deeply  indebted  to  you  for  mak- 
ing the  matter  clear.  The  Senora,  I  am  sure,  sees 
the  wisdom  of  your  words." 

The  priest  bowed  and  left  the  room.  When 
Jocelyn  had  sufficiently  recovered  her  composure 
to  trust  herself  to  speak,  she  said : 

"I  see  that  it  is  useless  to  argue  the  case,  Juan. 
So  please  send  word  to  my  maid  that  I  am  ready, 
and  order  our  horses." 

"I  am  very  sorry,  my  dear,  but  your  horse  has 
gone  lame.  The  man  reported  it  and  I  saw  it  for 
myself  just  now  at  the  stable.  I  have  sent  for  my 
foreman,  but  he  cannot  get  here  for  an  hour. 
Meantime  let  us  have  something  to  eat.  Surely 
you  will  not  deny  me  the  pleasure  of  sitting  at 
lunch  with  you." 

Jocelyn's  first  thought  was  a  suspicion  that 
[98] 


WHOM  GOD  HATH  JOINED 

Juan  had  purposely  lamed  the  horse.  Her  sus- 
picion was  fully  justified.  In  point  of  fact,  a 
pebble  had  been  craftily  placed  under  the  animal's 
shoe.  But  of  course  Jocelyn  had  no  way  of  veri- 
fying her  suspicion;  and,  in  any  event,  she  knew 
it  would  be  useless  to  refer  to  it. 

So  when  she  asked  to  have  the  horse  brought 
out,  it  was  merely  with  the  idea  of  gaining  time 
and  seeking  an  opportunity  to  speak  with  her 
maid. 

While  Juan  went  to  order  the  horse,  Jocelyn 
beckoned  to  Marcellina,  who  had  lingered  within 
sight  on  the  veranda. 

" Marcellina/'  she  said,  hurriedly,  "go  at  once 
very  quietly  to  the  telephone — you  remember 
where  it  is — and  call  up  our  chauffeur.  Tell  him 
to  come  at  once  with  the  car,  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible. One  of  the  horses  is  lame." 

The  girl  nodded,  and  made  a  gesture  that  im- 
plied full  comprehension  of  the  situation. 

"Be  sure  to  telephone  yourself;  and  let  no  one 
overhear  your  message." 

"Trust  me  for  that,  Sefiora." 

The  maid  slipped  quietly  away,  and  Jocelyn 
was  standing  alone,  apparently  unconcerned, 
when  Juan  returned.  A  moment  later  the  horse 

[99] 


was  led  up.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  serious- 
ness of  its  limp;  and  Jocelyn  readily  agreed  that 
riding  it  in  that  condition  was  out  of  the  question. 

"The  foreman  will  be  here  in  an  hour,"  said 
Juan  carelessly.  "Meantime  let  us  go  to  lunch." 

If  he  was  surprised  at  the  readiness  of  Jocelyn's 
acquiescence,  he  was  far  too  clever  to  show  it. 

As  they  sat  at  the  table,  their  conversation  for 
a  time  did  not  depart  from  the  conventional.  He 
told  her  incidents  of  ranch  life — of  the  number  of 
cattle  now  on  the  range;  the  prospects  for  the 
coming  year. 

But  she  noted  presently  that  he  was  taking 
glass  after  glass  of  wine,  drinking  her  health  again 
and  again.  He  urged  her  to  drink,  and  when  she 
declined  he  restrained  his  impatience  with  obvi- 
ous difficulty. 

Finally  he  arose  and  took  a  turn  or  two  about 
the  room.  Then  he  seated  himself  beside  her.  She 
moved  her  chair  away,  but  he  put  out  his  hand  to 
restrain  her. 

"Come,  come,  nina  mia"  he  whispered.  "Do 
not  repulse  me.  Think  of  the  old  days." 

There  was  a  look  in  his  eyes  that  was  unmis- 
takable, and  now  his  face  was  flushed,  and  his 
voice  was  unsteady  as  he  said: 
[100] 


WHOM  GOD  HATH  JOINED 

"You  are  very  beautiful  to-day,  heart  of  my 
heart.  Ah,  it  is  a  joy  to  think  that  you  are  my 
wife.  Yet,  think  of  it,  my  beloved,  you  have  not 
kissed  me  since  you  returned — after  all  these 
months  of  absence.  Well,  your  lips  will  be  all  the 
sweeter  for  the  delay." 

He  put  out  his  arms,  but  she  sprang  to  her  feet 
and  eluded  him.  She  darted  towards  the  door; 
but  he  caught  her  just  as  she  reached  it,  and  threw 
his  arms  about  her. 

She  struggled  fiercely  to  free  herself,  and  uttered 
an  involuntary  scream. 

He  laughed  mockingly. 

"It  is  useless  to  scream,  querida  mia.  I  am 
master  here,  and  no  one  will  heed  you.  But  you 
have  nothing  to  fear.  Am  I  not  your  husband? 
Is  it  not  a  husband's  right  to  salute  his  wife?"/ 

He  held  his  hand  over  her  mouth  now  to  quiet 
her,  and  in  so  doing  he  released  one  of  her  arms. 
Exerting  all  her  strength  she  brought  her  palm 
to  his  face,  and  gave  a  sudden  thrust  that  over- 
balanced him.  As  he  relaxed  his  hold,  she  sprang 
to  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"Well  done,  you  little  panther,"  he  muttered. 

He  turned  to  lock  the  door,  putting  the  key  in 
his  pocket. 

[101] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

"Now  we  shall  see  who  is  master  here,"  he 
sneered. 

There  was  a  gleam  of  low,  malicious  cunning 
in  his  eye  as  he  faced  her. 

But  the  look  instantly  changed  to  one  of  anger, 
not  unmixed  with  fear,  for  Jocelyn  was  standing 
in  the  center  of  the  room,  with  her  right  hand  ex- 
tended directly  towards  him,  and  in  her  hand  was 
something  that  had  a  sinister  glitter  in  the  dull 
light. 

Instinctively  Juan  started  forward. 

But  the  look  in  Jocelyn's  eye  brought  him  to 
his  senses,  and  he  paused  just  in  time. 

"Unlock  that  door  and  open  it;  then  stand 
back  behind  the  table,"  she  said  quietly. 

With  a  look  of  hatred  on  his  dark  face,  Juan 
unlocked  the  door  and  drew  back. 

As  Jocelyn  came  on  to  the  veranda,  MarceUina 
ran  towards  her. 

"The  car  will  be  here  any  moment,  Senora.  I 
heard  the  horn  down  the  road  there." 

A  moment  later  the  car  appeared.  The  two 
women  hastily  entered  it.  Just  as  it  started, 
Juan  appeared  on  the  veranda.  His  face  was 
wreathed  in  smiles.  He  came  to  the  steps, 
bowed  ceremoniously,  waved  his  hand  and  called 
[102] 


WHOM  GOD  HATH  JOINED 

out  a  parting  salutation  in  the  most  suave 
tones. 

But  his  whole  aspect  and  manner  changed  the 
moment  they  were  out  of  sight.  He  summoned 
his  foreman. 

"Geronimo,  get  the  automobile  ready  at  once. 
We  will  follow  the  Senora." 

"Si,  Senor,  it  will  be  ready  in  five  minutes." 

Meantime  Jocelyn,  having  no  suspicion  that 
she  was  being  followed,  made  such  effort  as  she 
could  to  recover  her  composure,  and  felt  an  added 
sense  of  relief  with  each  mile  of  distance  that  sep- 
arated her  from  the  ranch. 

"It  was  foolish  of  me  to  come,"  she  said  to 
Marcellina  presently.  "But  I  felt  that  I  must 
make  this  final  effort.  Now  I  at  least  know  the 
worst." 

Beyond  this  she  scarcely  spoke  till  they  were 
drawing  up  at  the  railway  station  that  marked 
the  end  of  their  automobile  journey.  Then  she 
directed  the  maid  to  buy  tickets  to  the  Grand 
Canon,  and  check  the  baggage  there. 

"I  think  a  few  days  at  El  Tovar  will  do  us 
good,"  she  said. 


[103] 


CHAPTER  DC 

THE  FINISHED  CHAPTER 

It  was  a  superb  April  day  when  Jocelyn  and 
Marcellina  came  to  the  hotel  at  the  canon. 
Jocelyn  still  felt  the  strain  of  the  ordeal  through 
which  she  had  passed.  But  the  atmosphere  at 
El  Tovar  is  electrical;  and  a  glimpse  of  the 
canon  exalts  the  mind,  gives  one  a  new  sense 
of  proportion,  and  soothes  sorrow  itself  into 
forgetfulness. 

So  Jocelyn's  spirits  had  already  begun  to  rise 
when  she  came  from  the  hotel  and  strolled  out  on 
the  terrace  that  gives  a  view  across  the  great 
gorge.  The  final  touch  was  given  to  the  rejuve- 
nation of  her  spirits  when,  as  she  came  around 
the  clump  of  junipers  to  an  outjutting  point  that 
she  well  remembered,  she  caught  the  first  glimpse 
of  the  setting  sun,  all  mantled  in  clouds  of  lam- 
bent tints. 

But  her  enthusiasm  received  a  momentary 
check  as  she  beheld  the  figure  of  a  man  standing 
[104] 


THE  FINISHED   CHAPTER 

at  the  apex  of  the  ledge,  on  the  very  spot  which 
she  was  seeking. 

She  was  about  to  turn  back,  but  a  second  glance 
brought  her  to  a  full  stop. 

"Is  it  possible?"  she  gasped.  "No;  that  is 
ridiculous.  Yet  it  surely  is  amazingly  like 
him." 

She  took  a  few  steps  to  one  side  till  she  stood 
in  the  shadow  of  the  junipers.  Then  as  she  got 
a  clearer  view  of  the  man,  who  had  not  shifted 
his  position,  she  was  left  no  longer  in  doubt.  The 
man  was  Prescott  Knight.  There  was  no  mis- 
taking that  gigantic  figure,  though  the  face  was 
turned  away,  intent  on  the  sunset  view. 

Jocelyn  clutched  her  hands  ^together,  and  con- 
trolled an  impulse  to  run  forward  and  throw  her 
arms  about  him.  Instead,  she  tiptoed  along  until 
she  stood  almost  at  his  side  without  his  having 
discovered  her  presence.  Then,  disguising  her 
voice,  she  said  nonchalantly : 

"Mira  no  mas,  Senor;  que  encantadora!" 

The  man  made  a  gesture  of  impatience,  but  did 
not  turn  his  head. 

"I  am  sorry;  but  I  don't  speak  Spanish,"  he 
said  rather  curtly;  "and  I  came  here  to  watch 
the  sunset." 

[1051 


JOCELYN  WEST 

"Oh,  well,  I  es-speak  a  leetul  Ingleesh,"  she 
laughed. 

He  turned  towards  her  instantly.  "Jocelyn," 
he  cried,  in  utter  astonishment.  Then  he  sprang 
forward  and  would  have  caught  her  in  his  arms. 

But  she  held  him  back,  with  an  arm-thrust 
which  was  half  a  caress,  and  they  stood  regarding 
each  other,  with  mutual  surprise,  and  with  pleas- 
ure that  neither  sought  to  conceal. 

"In  the  name  of  wonder  how  did  you  come 
here?"  he  said  at  last. 

"In  a  railway  carriage,  of  course." 

"But  whence  and  when  and  why?" 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer  he  continued. 
"It  was  the  merest  accident  that  I  stopped  here. 
I  am — or  was — on  a  trip  to  Lower  California,  to 
hunt  that  mountain  sheep  I  told  you  about.  As 
I  was  feeling  down  in  the  mouth,  I  thought  a 
glimpse  of  the  canon  would  be  good  for  me.  And 
it  surely  has  been,"  he  added.  "I  certainly  am 
in  luck  for  once." 

He  regarded  her  so  intently  that  she  felt  the 
color  rise  in  her  cheeks,  and  was  conscious  of  her 
heart-throbs. 

"Jocelyn,"  he  said  at  last  in  a  low  voice,  "are 
you  glad  to  see  me?" 

[1061 


THE   FINISHED   CHAPTER 

"I  can  truly  say  I  was  never  so  glad  to  see  any 
one  before  in  my  life." 

"Jocelyn!  Yet  you  ran  away  from  me,  and 
now  I  have  found  you  only  by  chance." 

There  was  a  note  of  reproach  in  his  voice  now; 
seeming  only  to  emphasize  the  note  of  tenderness. 

She  came  close  beside  him  and  laid  her  hand 
on  his  arm.  The  touch  thrilled  him  as  even 
Jocelyn's  touch  had  never  thrilled  him  before. 
There  was  a  look  in  her  eyes  he  had  never  seen 
there,  and  her  voice  had  a  vibrant  quality  that 
was  new  to  it,  as  she  said: 

"Never  mind  that  now,  Prescott;  I  will  ex- 
plain everything.  Is  it  not  enough  that  we  are 
together  now — and,  of  all  places,  here  at  the 
canon?" 

"It  is  enough,"  he  said  exultantly. 

He  held  both  her  hands  for  a  moment,  but  she 
gently  withdrew  them. 

"Let  us  go  to  dinner.  I  have  ridden  for  hours 
and  am  starving.  As  we  dine  I  will  tell  you  every- 
thing. But  I  forget — you  wish  to  see  the  sun- 
set," she  added  with  a  bantering  laugh. 

"I  wish  to  see  nothing  but  your  eyes,  as  you 
know  very  well,"  he  replied  gravely,  as  they  went 
towards  the  Inn. 

[107] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

Two  hours  later  they  were  sitting  on  the  ve- 
randa in  the  shadow.  Prescott  had  heard  every- 
thing; and  Jocelyn  had  begun  to  feel  the  reac- 
tion from  the  exhilaration  of  their  unexpected 
meeting  under  stress  of  the  rehearsal  of  the  events 
of  the  past  few  days. 

"I  have  done  my  best,  Prescott,"  she  said, 
"and  I  have  signally  failed.  I  am  bound  to  that 
man  for  life,  and  there  is  no  future  for  me.  I 
can't  see  any  way  of  escape.  Can  you,  Prescott?" 

"Of  course  I  can,  Jocelyn.  I  have  repeatedly 
told  you  what  it  is.  Your  life  with  Madero  is  a 
finished  chapter.  Why  should  you  not  take  up 
a  new  life  with  me — begin  a  new  chapter?  You 
are  young,  with  all  the  world  before  you;  and  I 
love  you.  I  do  not  urge  you  to  decide  anything 
to-night;  but  to-morrow  we  will  talk  things  over." 

She  rose  swiftly,  and  stood  before  him. 

"I  think  I  am  ready  to  decide  to-night,  Pres- 
cott dear.  If  you  are  sure  that  you  want  me,  I 
will  come  with  you.  We  will  begin  life  over;  and 
it  shall  indeed  be  a  new  chapter.  Let  us  make  a 
tour  around  the  world,  and  then  go  to  New  York 
to  live,  and  make  our  lives  worth  while  together." 

He  was  on  his  feet  before  she  had  finished 
speaking,  and  had  seized  her  hands. 
[1081 


THE  FINISHED  CHAPTER 

"Dearest  child,"  was  all  he  could  say. 

"To-morrow,  then,  we  will  start.  We  will  tour 
along  the  canon  for  a  time;  then  on  to  the  coast." 

"Shall  we  start  by  the  morning  train?" 

"No;  let  us  first  go  along  the  canon.  About 
ten  miles  away  at  the  Grand  View  trail,  there  is  a 
cave,  far  down  the  canon,  a  cave  reached  only  by 
a  narrow  path  hewn  out  of  the  rock.  No  one 
ever  goes  to  it,  but  I  know  it  of  old.  I  will  guide 
you  to  it;  and  there,  close  to  nature's  heart,  we 
will  make  our  camp  to-morrow  night." 

She  gave  a  little  laugh,  and  stepped  quickly 
away. 

"Breakfast  at  eight,"  she  called  back,  as  she 
went  through  the  door. 

Prescott  stepped  to  the  edge  of  the  veranda, 
lighting  a  cigarette.  He  walked  along  the 
path  leading  towards  the  canon.  As  he  did  so, 
a  man  crept  stealthily  towards  him  along  the 
shadow  of  the  cedars. 

But  before  the  would-be  assassin  came  within 
striking  distance,  another  man  came  quickly  be- 
hind him  and  touched  his  arm. 

"Come  with  me,  you  fool,"  whispered  the 
second. 

"That  is  the  man.    I  must  get  him." 
[109] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

"Not  yet;  you  would  spoil  everything.  Did 
you  hear  what  she  said  about  the  cave?  Well,  I 
know  that  cave.  Padre  Francisco  told  me  about 
it.  I  know  the  place,  and  its  location  suggests  a 
plan.  Your  wife  is  lost  to  you  forever,  Juan. 
You  heard  what  she  said.  She  is  lost,  body  and 
soul;  and  this  man  is  responsible.  But  you  shall 
have  your  revenge,  dear  Juan.  Come  with  me." 

"But,  Geronimo,"  protested  the  other. 

"Come;  trust  everything  to  me.  Your  revenge 
will  not  be  long  delayed.  I  have  a  plan  that  will 
please  you.  Come." 

And  the  two  sinister  figures  disappeared  into 
the  night,  without  having  given  Prescott  an  in- 
timation of  their  existence. 


[1101 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  SPELL  OF  THE  CANON 

It  required  but  an  hour  or  so  in  the  morning 
to  complete  arrangements  for  the  trip.  Jocelyn 
and  Prescott  sent  their  chief  luggage  forward  by 
express  to  Flagstaff,  with  instructions  to  hold 
until  called  for.  The  few  things  required  for  the 
camping  trip  were  soon  in  readiness. 

Marcellina  was  to  take  the  train  back  to  New 
York,  being  told  that  she  would  probably  hear 
nothing  from  her  mistress  for  at  least  a  month. 
The  maid  was  overjoyed  at  the  turn  affairs  had 
taken,  for  Knight  had  from  the  outset  been  a 
favorite  with  her. 

At  ten  o'clock  they  took  the  stage  that  made  the 
trip  along  the  rim  of  the  canon  to  the  Grand  View 
Hotel.  This  would  bring  them  to  the  proximity 
of  the  trail  leading  to  the  cave  about  which 
Jocelyn  had  spoken. 

The  tourist  party  in  the  stage  was  the  usual 
one — all  such  groups  are  as  much  alike  as  peas  in 
[111] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

the  pod.  They  were  of  sundry  ages  and  national- 
ities, and  each  individual  was  in  tow,  as  it  were, 
of  his  or  her  own  pet  superlative,  which  made 
itself  manifest  at  every  turn  in  the  road,  or  wher- 
ever the  driver  pulled  rein  at  a  place  affording  an 
especially  good  view. 

"Wunderschon!"  the  stout  German  never 
failed  to  exclaim.  "Superb!"  "Stupendous!" 
"Magnificent!"  "Glorious!"  came  with  like 
certitude  from  the  respective  lips  of  various  others. 
And  the  tall,  lank,  Middle  Westerner  with  equal 
invariableness  propounded  to  the  universe  at 
large  the  unanswerable  query,  "Well,  isn't  it  the 
limit?"  varying  the  character  of  the  interroga- 
tion to  suit  the  shifting  scene  merely  to  the  ex- 
tent of  altering  the  degree  of  emphasis  on  the 
penultimate  word. 

Then,  of  course,  there  was  the  young  woman, 
who,  if  she  did  not  come  from  Boston,  should 
have  done  so;  she  who  gauged  her  emotions  in 
strict  accordance  with  the  mandates  of  the  guide- 
book. "It  is  splendid — at  least  it  seems  so  to 
me,"  she  said  at  the  first  stopping-place.  "But 
the  authorities  tell  us  that  there  is  a  far  finer  view 
about  a  mile  farther  on.  I  am  eager  to  see  that, 
and  I  am  restraining  my  emotions." 
[112] 


When  the  viewpoint  referred  to  was  reached, 
however,  the  Boston  damsel's  emotions  took  no 
more  violent  form  of  expression  than  led  to  her 
reading  aloud  from  the  book. 

"Oh,  this  is  it;  this  is  it!"  she  exclaimed  in 
what  she  probably  meant  for  carefully  studied 
tones  of  enthusiasm.  "Listen  to  the  description: 

"  'An  inferno,  swathed  in  soft  celestial  fires;  a 
whole  chaotic  underworld,  just  emptied  of  pri- 
meval floods  and  waiting  for  a  new  creative  word; 
eluding  all  sense  of  perspective  or  dimension,  out- 
stretching the  faculty  of  measurement,  overlap- 
ping the  confines  of  definite  apprehension;  a 
boding,  terrible  thing,  unflinchingly  real,  yet 
spectral  as  a  dream. 

"  'The  beholder  is  at  first  unimpressed  by  any 
detail;  he  is  overwhelmed  by  the  ensemble  of  a 
stupendous  panorama,  a  thousand  square  miles 
in  extent,  that  lies  wholly  beneath  the  eye,  as  if 
we  stood  upon  a  mountain  peak  instead  of  the 
level  brink  of  a  fearful  chasm  in  the  plateau, 
whose  opposite  shore  is  thirteen  miles  away. 

"  'A  labyrinth  of  huge  architectural  forms, 
endlessly  varied  in  design,  fretted  with  ornamen- 
tal devices,  festooned  with  lace-like  webs  formed 
of  talus  from  the  upper  cliffs  and  painted  with 
8  [113] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

every  color  known  to  the  palette  in  pure  trans- 
parent tones  of  marvelous  delicacy.  Never  was 
picture  more  harmonious,  never  flower  more  ex- 
quisitely beautiful.  It  flashes  instant  communi- 
cation of  all  that  architecture  and  painting  and 
music  for  a  thousand  years  have  gropingly  striven 
to  express.  It  is  the  soul  of  Michael  Angelo  and 
of  Beethoven.' 

"There!  Isn't  that  description  sublime  and 
thrilling?"  the  reader  demanded.  A  number  of 
her  associates  responded  with  "Ohs"  and  "Ahs." 

Jocelyn  and  Prescott  were  standing  apart,  but 
within  earshot  of  the  reader.  Prescott  found  it 
difficult,  to  refrain  from  smiling. 

"That  woman  reminds  me  of  A.  B.  Frost's  pic- 
ture of  the  girl  that  went  to  the  mountain  to 
paint;  and  then  sat  down  before  a  magnificent 
landscape  and  made  a  picture  of  a  bunch  of 
violets." 

"Oh,  don't  mind  her;  if  she  gets  her  happiness 
that  way,  let  the  poor  thing  do  so.  Most  women 
must  have  their  emotions  interpreted  for  them, 
especially  would-be  intellectual  women.  After 
all,  she  is  more  endurable  than  that  young  sta- 
tistician over  there,  isn't  she?" 

The  statistician  in  question  was  propounding 
[114] 


THE  SPELL  OF  THE   CANON 

data  as  to  the  size  of  the  canon — its  five  to 
twenty-five  miles  of  width;  its  mile  or  more  of 
depth;  the  number  of  years  that  had  been  re- 
quired to  carve  it  out  of  the  rocks. 

And  when  the  statistician  could  be  silenced,  his 
place  was  taken  by  the  amateur  geologist,  whose 
sole  joy  consisted  in  attempting  to  name  the 
strata  that  make  up  the  walls  of  the  canon.  With 
Major  Powell's  description  in  front  of  him  he 
peered  into  the  depths,  and  insistently  gave  the 
entire  company  the  benefit  of  his  discoveries. 

"There  are  really  only  seven  distinct  strata  of 
rock,"  he  assured  them,  "though  they  seem  to 
be  divided  into  so  many  sections.  At  the  bottom 
there  is  a  stratum  of  black  gneiss,  eight  hundred 
feet  in  thickness.  Above  that  comes  a  bed  of 
quartzite,  then  five  hundred  feet  of  sandstone, 
and  then" 

"Oh,  professor,  isn't  it  wonderful,"  interrupted 
the  girl  from  Ohio.  "Now  what  stratum  is  it  that 
makes  up  the  red  part  of  the  steep  cliff  just  over 
there?" 

This  practical  question  took  the  geologist  quite 
beyond  his  depth,  and  he  found  refuge  in  further 
readings  from  Powell. 

And  so  it  went  on.  But  Jocelyn  and  Prescott 
[1151 


JOCELYN  WEST 

did  not  mind.  They  touched  hands  when  they 
could  without  being  observed,  and  gave  each  other 
companionable  nudges,  but  said  little  to  each 
other  and  nothing  to  their  associates.  They  were 
themselves  too  exhilarated  and  happy  to  be  over- 
critical  of  the  foibles  of  their  fellow-mortals.  But 
they  were  glad  when  the  stage  reached  the  bend 
in  the  road  where  they  were  to  descend  and  take 
the  foot-path  along  the  cliff. 

No  one  paid  any  attention  to  them,  or  probably 
gave  them  a  thought,  when  they  left  the  stage 
midway  of  the  journey.  Each  carried  a  pack  con- 
sisting of  supplies  for  a  short  camping  trip, 
wrapped  in  Navajo  blankets.  To  all  appear- 
ances they  were  an  ordinary  couple,  prepared  to 
descend  the  Grand  View  trail  and  perhaps  to 
camp  over  night  at  the  bottom  of  the  canon. 

As  the  lovers  proceeded  now  by  themselves 
along  the  wooded  path,  they  went  hand  in  hand, 
their  spirits  keyed  high  with  a  sense  of  excitement 
and  exhilaration.  Prescott  could  not  keep  his 
eyes  off  his  companion's  face,  and  he  would  have 
stopped  every  fifty  yards  to  embrace  her  had  she 
permitted  it.  But  she  constantly  diverted  him  by 
directing  his  attention  to  new  glimpses  of  the 
canon  that  were  revealed  at  each  turn  of  the  path. 
[1161 


THE  SPELL  OF  THE  CANON 

"Hark!"  she  whispered,  as  they  came  out  on 
a  point  from  which  tney  could  look  down  to  the 
very  depths  of  the  great  chasm.  "Doesn't  this 
make  you  think  of  Robert  Service's  description 
of  the  Yukon  Valley: 

"'I've  stood  in  some  mighty-mouthed  hollow 
That's  plumb  full  of  hush  to  the  brim.' 

"'Plumb  full  of  hush!'  that  describes  it, 
doesn't  it!  It  seems  to  me  that  no  other  words  of 
all  the  volumes  that  have  been  written  about  the 
canon  characterize  it  quite  so  well — and,  of 
course,  these  words  weren't  written  about  the 
canon  at  all.  But  all  great  chasms  are  alike,  I 
suppose;  only  this  is  more  so." 

"The  words  I  always  think  of  when  I  stand 
beside  the  canon,"  said  Prescott,  "are  parts  of 
Kipling's  poem,  'The  Red  Gods  Call  Me.'  Here 
in  this  chasm,  it  seems  to  me,  the  red  gods  might 
make  their  final  stand  against  the  encroachments 
of  civilized  man." 

"But  you  do  not  believe  in  the  red  gods,  Pres- 
cott?" 

"No,  but  that  does  not  keep  me  from  enjoy- 
ing poetry  that  tells  about  them." 

Chatting  thus,  and  each  from  time  to  tune 
[117] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

quoting  such  snatches  of  verse  as  came  to  mind 
under  stress  of  emotions  evoked  by  the  canon  and 
their  own  new  experience  together,  they  made 
their  way  along  the  path,  and  came  presently  to 
Grand  View  Point. 

As  they  stood  at  the  point  near  the  beginning 
of  the  Grand  View  trail,  they  clasped  hands  and 
were  silent.  If  you  have  witnessed  the  panorama 
of  the  canon  from  this  point  the  mere  mention  of 
it  will  bring  to  your  mind  such  memories  as  find 
no  adequate  expression  in  words.  If  you  have  not 
seen  it,  you  can  at  best  form  but  a  vague  con- 
ception of  its  grandeur;  and  words  would  be 
utterly  futile  to  bring  it  before  your  mind's  eye. 

Jocelyn  and  Prescott  had  both  visited  the  point 
many  times,  and  to-day  the  canon,  for  all  its  sub- 
limity, formed  but  a  background  for  the  picture 
of  their  thoughts.  They  themselves  were  the 
foreground.  The  bracing  air  of  the  plateau  com- 
bined with  the  grandeur  of  the  surroundings  to 
stimulate  their  minds  and  bodies  to  the  point  of 
elation.  They  held  hands,  and  felt  their  pulses 
beat  yet  faster.  They  looked  into  each  other's 
eyes  and  laughed  like  children,  for  no  better  rea- 
son than  that  they  were  alone  together.  Both 
seemed  to  have  resolved  to  forget  all  disagreeable 
•[118] 


THE  SPELL  OF  THE  CANON 

experiences  of  the  past;  to  live  the  day  to  its  full 
possibilities. 

They  had  walked  leisurely  after  leaving  the 
stage,  and  it  was  well  towards  noon  when  they 
came  to  the  cliff  above  the  Grand  View  path. 
They  sat  for  a  time  in  the  shade  of  the  junipers 
and  ate  some  sandwiches;  and  they  replenished 
their  canteen  with  a  supply  of  water  which  must 
last  them  until  their  return  to  the  same  spring 
next  day. 

As  they  turned  to  descend  the  trail,  they  felt 
that  their  real  adventure  had  begun.  Each  step 
of  the  tortuous  path  seemed  to  take  them  farther 
from  the  world,  and  to  give  them  more  fully  to 
each  other.  Wherever  possible  they  walked  hand 
in  hand.  Prescott's  strong  arm  was  extended  to 
support  Jocelyn  on  the  steeper  declines;  and  she 
leaned  on  it,  rejoicing  in  his  strength,  though  she 
needed  aid  in  such  a  journey  scarcely  more  than 
would  a  chamois. 

They  stopped  occasionally  to  regard  the 
scenery,  and  as  he  stood  below  her  on  a  steep 
part  of  the  trail  he  would  now  and  again  put  out 
his  arms  to  embrace  her;  but  she  always  held 
him  back  with  a  caressing  touch  which  neverthe- 
less revealed  her  sinewy  strength. 
[119] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

"By  and  by,  my  beloved;  by  and  by.  Let  us 
wait  till  we  come  to  our  castle,"  she  would  whis- 
per with  a  little  laugh.  And  he  would  laugh  back, 
release  her  hands  for  the  moment  and  go  on,  his 
mind  aglow  with  anticipation. 

About  half  a  mile  from  the  top — when  a  sheer 
descent  of  something  like  two  thousand  feet  had 
been  accomplished — they  paused  at  a  ledge  that 
seemed  to  Prescott  not  different  from  others 
above  it.  But  Jocelyn  ran  ahead  and  inspected  the 
wall  a  short  distance  off  to  the  right  of  the  path. 

"This  is  it,"  she  cried  excitedly.  "Do  you  see 
this  little  cross  cut  hi  the  rock?  It  was  made  by 
the  priest  who  first  discovered  the  cave  and  who 
told  me  about  it." 

"You  did  not  come  here  with  the  priest?" 
Prescott  asked,  with  a  lover's  quick  apprehension 
of  jealousy. 

"Oh,  no  indeed.  The  priest  was  not  within  a 
hundred  miles  of  here  when  I  came.  He  was  at 
the  ranch — where  he  still  is.  I  will  tell  you  more 
about  him  some  day,  but  we  must  not  let  thoughts 
of  such  a  person  mar  this  occasion.  Still,  I  owe 
the  cave  to  him.  He  told  me  its  location,  and  of 
this  cross  that  marks  the  ledge  at  which  you  turn 
from  the  trail.  He  used  to  come  here,  so  he  said, 
[120] 


THE  SPELL  OF  THE   CANON 

to  do  penance.  He  had  much  need  to  do  penance, 
I  fear.  But  he  has  not  been  in  this  region  for 
many  years;  and  so  far  as  I  am  aware  no  one  else 
so  much  as  knows  of  the  existence  of  the  cave. 
You  see  there  is  nothing  to  make  this  ledge  seem 
different  from  others.  The  priest  must  have 
found  the  cave  quite  by  accident;  although,  as 
you  will  see,  once  you  start  right  you  can  go  no- 
where else." 

As  she  spoke  she  walked  along  the  ledge,  which 
at  this  point  projected  fifteen  or  twenty  feet,  form- 
ing a  shelf  of  level  rock.  Prescott  followed,  and 
they  were  almost  immediately  out  of  view  of  the 
trail,  passing  along  the  rocky  shelf,  which,  fol- 
lowing the  irregular  contour  of  the  cliff,  wound  a 
serpentine  course,  with  a  precipitous  or  even  over- 
hanging wall  above  and  a  sheer  descent  below. 

In  general  the  projecting  ledge  varied  from  ten 
to  fifty  feet  in  width,  and  no  great  mountaineer- 
ing skill  was  required  to  traverse  it.  But  after 
walking  along  it  perhaps  a  mile,  they  came  to  a 
point  where  the  cliff  turned  at  a  sharp  angle,  and 
Prescott  saw  that  the  ledge  narrowed  to  a  little 
strip  not  much  more  than  a  yard  wide. 

Jocelyn  turned  to  him.  "I  hope  you  have  a 
steady  head." 

[121] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

"If  I  had  not,  I  should  not  be  here  to  affirm  or 
deny  it,  for  I  have  hunted  nearly  every  variety 
of  mountain  sheep  and  goat  in  the  world,  and  they 
have  led  me  over  some  pretty  tough  places.  But 
Jocelyn,  are  you  quite  sure  of  your  footing  on 
such  a  path  as  that?  " 

She  laughed.  "I  was  an  ibex  in  some  previous 
incarnation.  Watch  me." 

As  if  impelled  by  a  spirit  of  recklessness  she 
darted  forward  and  sped  along  the  narrow  path 
with  almost  the  fleetness  of  a  chamois,  till  she 
stood  poised  on  the  wide  terrace  just  beyond, 
which  marked  a  point  in  the  rock  at  which  the 
path — if  such  it  could  be  called — turned  another 
corner. 

Prescott  uttered  an  involuntary  exclamation  of 
solicitude,  as  he  watched  Jocelyn  pass  with  such 
seemingly  reckless  bravado  along  a  path  where  a 
misstep  would  have  precipitated  her  down  a  sheer 
descent  of  four  thousand  feet.  But  she  had  passed 
to  safety  in  a  moment,  and  he,  following  with 
quick,  firm  stride,  could  only  conjure  her  not  to 
repeat  the  dangerous  experiment. 

"But  I  am  really  as  sure-footed  as  a  bighorn," 
she  protested.  "There  was  not  the  slightest  dan- 
ger. However,  I  will  go  more  sedately  since  you 
[122] 


THE  SPELL  OF  THE  CANON 

wish  it.  There  is  only  one  other  dangerous  point, 
anyway,  and  that  is  just  ahead.  We  shall  pass  it 
in  a  moment,  then  there  is  a  good  wide  ledge  the 
rest  of  the  way.  But  let  us  pause  a  moment  here, 
for  I  have  something  to  show  you. 

"Look,"  she  continued,  pointing  off  across  the 
chasm.  "In  the  wall  opposite — way  over  there  at 
that  other  bend  of  the  cliff — is  the  entrance  to 
the  cave.  We  can't  see  it  from  here,  for  it  is  just 
around  the  bend.  But  to  get  to  that  point,  as 
you  see,  we  must  walk  almost  a  mile,  clear  around 
this  horseshoe  curve." 

The  curve  in  question  was  one  of  the  innu- 
merable gulches  or  alcoves  that  ramify  hi  every 
direction  back  from  the  main  channel  of  the 
canon,  giving  the  great  chasm  its  irregularity  and 
picturesqueness  of  contour.  From  the  point  where 
Jocelyn  and  Prescott  stood,  the  conformation  of 
the  cliff  could  be  studied  with  peculiar  advantage, 
as  the  wall  opposite,  after  sweeping  back  to  form 
a  cul-de-sac,  approached  again,  horseshoe-like; 
and  the  point  opposite  (which  might  be  likened 
to  one  end  of  the  horseshoe,  while  they  stood  at 
the  other  end)  was  not  much  over  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  distant. 

Scarcely  anywhere  in  the  whole  extent  of  the 
[1231 


JOCELYN  WEST 

great  canon  are  the  walls  more  precipitate  than 
here.  And  in  few  places  could  the  geological  strata 
be  studied  by  the  casual  observer  to  better  advan- 
tage. The  successive  layers  of  rock  are  almost 
exactly  horizontal;  and  the  ledge  on  which  the 
lovers  stood  thus  formed  a  perfectly  level  path. 
The  explanation  of  its  existence  is  found  simply 
in  the  fact  that  the  stratum  of  rock  composing  it 
chanced  to  be  of  harder  and  tougher  texture  than 
the  next  stratum  above  it.  This  harder  stratum, 
representing  a  different  geological  era,  is  a  red 
limestone,  which  Powell,  the  geologist  of  the 
canon,  calls  the  "red  wall"  limestone  stratum. 
It  is  almost  sixteen  hundred  feet  in  thickness,  and 
from  top  to  bottom,  at  this  particular  point,  it 
had  been  cut  away  to  form  a  wall  almost  as  even 
and  perpendicular  as  if  it  had  been  planed  and 
fashioned  by  a  human  being  of  colossal  propor- 
tions working  with  chisel  and  pliimb-line. 

As  your  eye  follows  down  that  appalling  de- 
clivity, the  distance  becomes  hazy;  and  markings 
on  the  wall  are  indistinct  long  before  you  scan  the 
bottom.  For  below  the  wall  of  red  limestone 
there  are  four  successive  formations  of  strata- 
seven  hundred  feet  or  so  of  "alcove  limestone"; 
five  hundred  feet  of  "cliff  and  stone";  eight  hun- 
[124] 


dred  feet  of  "variegated  quartzite";  and,  finally, 
down  at  the  depths  of  the  abyss,  a  "black  gneiss" 
stratum  adding  another  eight  hundred  feet  of 
hazy  distance  beneath  one's  feet. 

Not  all  the  strata  are  as  precipitous  as  the  red 
wall  stratum  on  which  Jocelyn  and  Prescott  stood. 
Some  layers  are  carved  away,  others  project 
slightly,  each  having  yielded  more  or  less  to  the 
action  of  water  and  rain  and  wind  according  to 
its  texture.  But  the  aggregate  effect  is  that  of  a 
wall  which,  ignoring  the  minor  irregularities,  may 
be  spoken  of  as  being  absolutely  precipitous;  and 
the  aggregate  extent  of  that  wall,  stretching  down 
in  an  appalling,  awe-inspiring  vertical  from  the 
narrow  ledge  on  which  the  lovers  stood  to  the 
hazy  and  vague  depths  of  the  canon,  is  more  than 
four  thousand  feet;  stated  otherwise,  four-fifths 
of  a  mile. 

Figures  give  no  conception  of  the  sublimity  of 
such  distances,  as  you  look  down  awe-stricken, 
terrified,  into  their  depths.  Nor  do  comparisons 
and  illustrations  greatly  aid  the  imagination.  We 
might  estimate,  for  example,  that  twenty-odd 
Niagaras  must  be  heaped  one  on  another  to  fill 
the  gap  between  the  top  of  the  red  limestone  wall 
and  the  foot  of  the  black  gneiss  stratum.  Or  we 
[125] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

may  note  that  had  Mount  Washington  been  trans- 
ported and  set  in  this  horseshoe  gorge,  Jocelyn 
and  Prescott,  as  they  stood  there  on  the  ledge, 
would  have  looked  down  on  its  peak. 

But  all  such  illustrations  serve  to  arouse  only 
in  very  vague  degree  the  feeling  of  sublimity,  of 
immensity,  of  incomprehensibleness  that  comes 
to  the  heart  and  mind  of  the  spectator  who  be- 
holds the  majestic  scene  with  his  own  eyes;  who 
feels  its  weirdness,  its  awesomeness,  its  super- 
sensuality,  if  you  please,  its  supernaturalness. 

Meantime,  if,  standing  on  the  ledge  with  Joce- 
lyn and  Prescott,  one  turns  one's  eyes  upwards, 
the  spectacle  is  almost  equally  sublime  and  fear- 
compelling.  For  almost  eight  hundred  feet  above 
the  ledge  that  forms  the  narrow  path,  the  strata 
of  so-called  "banded  limestone"  rise  chiselled  and 
excoriated  in  layers  of  varying  depth,  some  strips 
gray,  others  bright  red  in  color.  The  ledges  of 
this  stratum  have  weathered  irregularly,  so  that 
the  wall  they  form  is  not  merely  perpendicular, 
but  in  many  places  overhanging,  roofing  in,  as  it 
were,  the  ledge  along  which  lies  the  path  to  Joce- 
lyn's  cave. 

As  the  eye  searches  still  farther  above  the 
banded  strata,  there  come  to  view  the  strangely 
[1261 


THE  SPELL  OF  THE  CANON 

turreted  and  columned  heights  of  the  so-called 
"tower  limestone"  stratum,  adding  another  thou- 
sand feet  to  the  already  stupendous  wall,  and 
giving  it  a  finish  at  once  artistic  and  sublime.  The 
irregular  battlements  of  this  overtopping  stra- 
tum might  be  likened  to  the  battlements  that 
topped  the  wall  of  a  mediaeval  fortress,  except 
that  they  are  chiselled  into  varied  and  fantastic 
shapes.  As  the  sun  strikes  them  the  Aubrey  lime- 
stone of  which  they  are  composed  gleams  white 
as  marble,  contrasting  charmingly  with  the  reds 
and  grays  of  the  lower  strata. 

It  was  still  not  long  after  the  mid-day  hour 
when  Jocelyn  and  Prescott  stood  on  the  terrace  at 
the  bend  of  the  horseshoe,  viewing  the  spectacle 
afforded  by  the  cliff  beyond.  At  this  hour  the 
turrets  and  towers  of  the  distant  portions  of  the 
main  canon  become  blended  into  hazy  and  ill- 
defined  shapes  through  lack  of  shadows  to  out- 
line them.  The  air  is  clear  as  crystal,  and  in  look- 
ing along  the  great  chasm  all  sense  of  perspective 
is  lost  at  a  little  distance,  and  peaks  that  really 
are  only  five  miles  away  seem  blended  with  other 
peaks  and  cliffs  that  are  in  reality  perhaps  a  score 
of  miles  beyond  them. 

It  requires  the  purple  shadows  of  the  morning 
[127] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

or  the  evening  to  bring  out  the  contour  of  the 
strangely  figured  and  chiselled  mountains  and  val- 
leys and  gorges — tessellated  spires  and  excoriated 
facades — that  make  up  the  picturesque  contour 
of  the  canon.  Yet  it  would  be  paradoxical  to  de- 
clare that  the  sublimity  of  the  spectacle  could  im- 
press the  beholder  more  at  one  hour  than  at  an- 
other, since  at  all  times  it  is  overwhelming. 

Jocelyn  and  Prescott  felt  themselves  profoundly 
under  the  influence  of  the  spell  of  this  unimagin- 
able and  incomprehensible  grandeur.  Even  had 
they  been  amidst  the  most  prosaic  surroundings 
their  spirits  would  have  been  keyed  to  the  high- 
est emotional  stress.  To  be  alone  together  on 
this  eyrie  in  the  sky,  amidst  the  vastness  and 
silence,  with  the  abysmal  depths  below  them,  the 
awe-inspiring  heights  above,  aroused  emotions 
that  no  words  could  depict,  and  to  which  they 
themselves  did  not  for  the  moment  seek  to  give 
expression  except  with  a  mute  pressure  of  the  hand. 

"Come,"  said  Jocelyn  presently.  "The  cave  is 
just  across  there  as  I  told  you — a  thousand  feet 
or  so  as  the  crow  flies;  but  it  is  a  full  mile  away 
along  the  route  we  must  travel,  since  we  are  not 
provided  with  wings  or  aeroplanes.  I  will  lead 
the  way." 

'[128] 


THE  SPELL  OF  THE  CANON 

"Please  be  careful,"  pleaded  Prescott,  as  he  saw 
her  start  along  the  path  which  for  a  few  yards  from 
the  point  on  which  they  had  stopped  was  even 
narrower  than  the  fearsome  ledge  just  traversed. 

"Never  fear,"  she  replied  coolly;  and  in  a  mo- 
ment she  had  passed  along  the  fifty  feet  or  so  of 
ledge  less  than  a  yard  wide  and  had  come  to  the 
relatively  broad  stretch  beyond.  A  moment  later 
Prescott  was  at  her  side. 

"That  was  the  last  danger  point,"  she  assured 
him.  "The  ledge  is  eight  or  ten  feet  wide  all  the 
rest  of  the  way  about  the  horseshoe." 

They  walked  side  by  side  now,  holding  hands 
as  before,  for  the  most  part  silent,  overcome  by 
the  strangeness  of  their  presence  together,  amidst 
such  surroundings,  under  such  conditions.  They 
progressed  rapidly,  for  both  were  eager  to  reach 
the  cave  which  constituted  the  goal  of  their  jour- 
ney. As  they  came  about  the  huge  curve  of  the 
horseshoe  they  were  presently  traversing  the  face 
of  the  cliff  which  they  had  just  inspected,  and 
looking  across  at  the  point  where  they  had  stopped, 
with  its  adjoining  stretch  of  narrow  path.  Soon 
they  came  to  the  opposite  point — the  other  end 
of  the  horseshoe — just  beyond  which,  Jocelyn  had 
said,  the  cave  entrance  lay. 
9  [ 129 1 


JOCELYN  WEST 

As  they  rounded  the  corner,  the  ledge  on  which 
they  were  walking  broadened  to  a  little  plateau 
twenty  or  thirty  feet  in  width,  and  came  to  an 
abrupt  termination.  Just  where  it  stopped,  or 
blended  with  the  cliff  wall  beyond,  a  large  clump 
of  juniper  bushes  had  found  foothold,  and  this 
side  of  the  bushes  appeared  an  opening,  only  six 
or  eight  feet  across,  which  was  obviously  the  cave 
entrance. 

"Here  it  is,"  Jocelyn  cried  exultantly;  and 
running  forward  she  turned  abruptly  into  the 
opening  and  disappeared  from  Prescott's  view. 


[130] 


CHAPTER  XI 

JOCELYN'S  CAVE 

In  an  instant  Prescott  had  followed  Jocelyn 
into  the  cave.  But  for  a  few  moments  he  could 
see  nothing,  coming  thus  suddenly  into  the  rela- 
tively gloomy  cavern,  out  of  the  brilliant  glow  of 
daylight.  Groping  about,  his  hand  came  in  con- 
tact with  Jocelyn's.  He  seized  it  and  attempted 
to  draw  her  towards  him;  but  she  eluded  him  with 
a  laugh. 

"Not  yet;  not  yet";  she  cried.  "I  wish  you 
to  inspect  our  castle." 

It  was  in  reality  fairly  light  within  the  cave, 
once  the  eyes  became  accustomed  to  it,  and  in  a 
few  moments  its  occupants  could  distinguish 
everything  about  them. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it?"  Her  voice 
had  a  tone  of  solicitude. 

"It  is  a  dream.  I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  large. 
Why,  it  is  a  castle  indeed,  and  ready  furnished. 
That  ledge  at  the  entrance  is  just  high  enough 
[131] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

for  a  settee  on  which  we  can  sit  while  we  study 
the  canon — and  each  other.  And  there  at  the 
back  of  the  cave  is  a  terrace  that  is  precisely  de- 
signed for  a  couch;  and  here"- 

She  interrupted  him,  her  cheeks  aflame,  though 
she  hoped  the  gloom  of  the  cavern  would  hide  her 
confusion. 

"We  must  cut  some  juniper  branches  to  carpet 
the  ledges.  Let  us  set  about  it." 

They  had  no  utensil  more  suitable  than  a 
large  pocket-knife,  but  this  sufficed  to  cut  such 
branches  as  could  not  be  broken.  They  had  pres- 
ently piled  them  deeply  on  the  ledges,  and  spread 
over  them  the  Navajo  blankets. 

"Behold!  Our  castle  is  furnished,"  cried  Joce- 
lyn.  "Now  let  us  sit  here  at  the  entrance,  and 
look  out  upon  our  estate. 

"This  is  really  a  pagan  throne,"  she  continued 
when  they  were  seated.  "Off  there  in  front  of  us 
are  all  manner  of  pagan  temples.  Far  to  the  left 
are  the  temples  of  Zoroaster  and  Buddha  and 
Brahma  and  Osiris  and  Confucius.  Here  in  front 
are  the  shrines  of  Krishna  and  Rama  and  Vishnu, 
and  Wotan's  Throne,  and  Angel's  Gate.  Off  to 
the  right  are  the  temples  of  the  Greeks — Apollo 
and  Venus  and  Jupiter  and  Juno.  Oh,  they  have 
[  132 1 


JOCELYN'S  CAVE 

exhausted  the  dictionaries  of  mythology  in  nam- 
ing the  countless  peaks,  and  still  I  suppose  only 
one  in  a  hundred  has  been  given  a  distinctive 
title.  And  so  far  as  I  ever  heard,  our  cave  has 
no  name  at  all." 

"Let  us  christen  it." 

"Very  well.    What  shall  we  call  it?" 

"The  answer  suggests  itself.  'Castle  Jocelyn,' 
of  course." 

"Oh,  I  should  much  rather  name  it  after  you. 
A  man  must  be  lord  of  the  castle,  you  know." 

"Perhaps.  But  he  may  name  the  castle  after 
the  fair  lady  of  his  choice,  whom  he  brings  to  rule 
the  ruler  of  the  castle.  In  this  case  he  has  already 
done  so." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke  and  turned  towards  the 
mouth  of  the  cave. 

"Cave,  I  christen  you  with  the  name  of  the 
fair  Jocelyn,"  he  said  gravely.  "She  will  honor 
you  with  her  presence  only  for  a  day;  but  she 
will  rule  the  heart  and  destiny  of  her  fellow- 
sojourner  within  your  hospitable  walls  so  long  as 
he  lives." 

Jocelyn  had  also  arisen,  and  she  stood  looking 
at  Prescott,  an  expression  of  solicitude,  even  of 
sadness,  on  her  face. 

[133] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

"Oh,  Prescott,  I  wonder  if  these  words  are  a 
true  prophecy.  I  wonder  if  we  are  doing  what  is 
right,  what  is  best?  " 

"Dear  child,"  he  said,  taking  her  hand. 

"Do  not  misunderstand  me,  Prescott.  I  think 
I  am  very  glad  to  be  here.  But  you  cannot  won- 
der if  just  at  the  time  of  taking  this  critical  step 
there  is  an  undertone  of  sadness  to  my  happiness. 
I  have  acted  with  deliberation.  I  do  not  think  I 
feel  that  I  am  doing  wrong.  I  tried  very  hard  to 
get  my  freedom;  and  I  could  not  make  it  seem 
right  that  I  should  be  bound  for  life  because 
Sefior  Madero  had  not  the  wish  to  release  me.  So 
I  came  to  you  willingly,  gladly.  Yet  I  cannot 
now  escape  a  feeling  of  apprehension,  almost  of 
fear.  Oh,  Prescott,  are  you  quite  sure  that  we 
are  acting  wisely?" 

He  took  her  in  his  arms,  but  she  pushed  him 
gently  back. 

"No,  Prescott,  please.  Let  us  talk  about  it 
calmly." 

"Then  sit  here  at  my  side,  dearest,  and  let  me 
at  least  put  my  arm  about  you." 
.  "Please  do  not  do  even  that,  Prescott,  just  yet. 
Let  us  be  very  calm  and  rational." 

"You  are  not  quite  yourself,  Jocelyn.     The 
[134] 


JOCELYN'S  CAVE 

spell  of  the  canon  is  on  you,  and  the  proximity  of 
all  these  pagan  temples." 

"  Perhaps  the  canon  has  something  to  do  with 
it.  But  I  think  it  is  chiefly  those  puritanical  an- 
cestors I  told  you  about.  I  fear  they  do  not  ap- 
prove of  my  decision — of  our  decision.  Truly, 
Prescott,  I  feel  conscience-stricken  even  now,  out 
here  amidst  these  wonderful  cliffs  that  should 
make  one  forget  oneself  altogether.  If  that  is  so, 
how  shall  I  feel  when  I  get  back  to  the  haunts  of 
people?  How  can  I  ever  look  my  old  friends  in 
the  face?" 

"Jocelyn,  you  are  excited  and  just  a  little 
morbid.  I  do  not  wonder  at  it.  Things 
have  moved  rapidly  for  us  during  the  past 
four  weeks.  Do  you  realize  that  it  was  just 
four  weeks  ago  to-day  that  I  saw  you  for  the 
first  time?" 

"It  seems  more  like  four  years.  But  that  it 
is  so  short  a  tune  merely  makes  our  decision 
appear  the  more  dubious." 

"Do  you  think  you  would  be  likely  to  decide 
otherwise  if  we  took  more  time?  You  know  you 
would  not,  Jocelyn.  I  have  loved  you  from  the 
first  moment  that  I  saw  you;  and  I  think  you 
cared  for  me  from  the  first." 
[135] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

"I  certainly  feel  as  if  I  had  known  you  for  a 
long  time,  and  as  if  I  should  not  know  you  better 
after  years.  But  is  it  right  that  we  should  yield 
to  our  mutual  wish  to  be  together,  when  we  can 
not  do  so  without  violating  the  conventions  of  so- 
ciety in  the  most  flagrant  way?" 

"Jocelyn,  dear,  have  we  not  already  decided 
that  question?  Did  you  not  clearly  decide 
it  last  night?  I  admit  that  there  may  be 
moments  of  embarrassment  in  store  for  us;  but 
shall  that  possibility  outweigh  the  hours  and 
years  of  happiness  that  our  mutual  relations 
should  give  us? 

"After  all,  dearest,  we  are  only  playing  the  part 
of  intelligent  beings  who  refuse  to  be  the  victims 
of  circumstances.  We  cannot  be  married  accord- 
ing to  the  formula  of  the  man-made  code  of  rules 
called  the  law.  But  in  the  larger  sense  we  shall 
be  man  and  wife  always.  Come,  my  beloved,  let 
us  pledge  our  faith  each  to  the  other,  and  make 
our  vows  of  eternal  friendship  and  fealty  here  at 
the  door  of  our  castle — our  bridal  chamber — and 
in  the  view  of  the  temples  of  all  the  gods  of  many 
nations.  I  do  not  believe  in  these  gods  or  in  any 
other,  as  you  know.  But  I  do  believe  in  hon- 
esty and  honor  and  justice;  and  I  believe  in  you, 
[1361 


JOCELYN'S  CAVE 

my  beloved,  and  I  will  teach  you  to  believe  in 
me." 

"I  do  believe  in  you,  Prescott,  as  I  believe  in  no 
other  human  being.  It  is  only  myself  that  I 
doubt.  I  know  that  I  am  acting  in  accordance 
with  my  own  wishes,  my  own  desires;  and  I  feel 
the  weight  of  disapproval  of  that  galaxy  of  Puri- 
tan ancestors  whose  motto,  so  far  as  I  can  learn, 
has  ever  been  that  whatever  you  desire  to  do  is 
wrong;  the  right  consisting  solely  in  doing  the 
thing  that  is  disagreeable." 

"Let  us  break  away  from  the  bondage  of  those 
ancestors,  Jocelyn.  That  thing  is  right  which 
harms  no  one  or  which  brings  in  its  aggregate 
effects  more  happiness  than  pain.  There  is  no 
other  standard  in  any  broad  view  of  morality. 
Judged  by  that  standard  we  are  doing  right  in 
giving  ourselves  each  to  the  other.  I  could  wish 
that  we  might  do  this  without  offending  even  the 
conventionalities.  But  since  this  may  not  be,  let 
us  repose  in  the  consciousness  of  our  own  mutual 
love  and  the  integrity  of  our  own  motives.  Come, 
dearest,  let  us  make  a  vow — a  promise — each  to 
the  other.  .  Let  us  pledge  ourselves  to  love  and 
honor  each  other;  to  live  for  each  other;  to  be 
in  the  fullest  and  truest  sense  man  and  wife,  and 
[137] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

to  fulfil  the  duties  and  obligations  of  that  bond 
henceforth  and  forever." 

He  clasped  her  hands  and  held  them  very 
tenderly. 

"I  pledge  and  promise  you  that,  Jocelyn;  I 
pledge  you  to  be  bound  by  that  vow  as  firmly  as 
if  it  had  been  sworn  before  a  multitude,  instead 
of  here  in  Nature's  temple." 

For  several  minutes  the  two  stood  there  with 
bowed  heads,  Jocelyn  in  a  sort  of  religious  ecstacy, 
Prescott  bowing  in  deference  to  the  feelings  of  his 
companion.  Presently  her  lips  moved,  and  in 
low,  grave  tones  she  pronounced  words  which  he 
recognized  as  the  opening  stanza  of  Van  Dyke's 
invocation  to  the  God  of  the  open  air. 

"Thou  who  hast  made  thy  dwelling  fair 

With  flowers  beneath,  above  with  starry  lights, 
And  set  thine  altars  everywhere, — 


Waiting  for  worshippers  to  come  to  thee 

In  thy  great  out-of-doors! 
To  thee  I  turn,  to  thee  I  make  my  prayer, 

God  of  the  open  air." 

She  was  silent  for  a  time,  though  her  lips  moved. 
Then  very  softly  she  pronounced  the  closing  words 
of  the  same  poem: 

[138] 


JOCELYN'S  CAVE 

"And  when  at  last  I  can  no  longer  move 

Among  them  freely,  but  must  part 
From  the  green  fields  and  from  the  waters  clear, 

Let  me  not  creep 

Into  some  darkened  room  and  hide 
From  all  that  makes  the  world  so  bright  and  dear; 
But  throw  the  windows  wide 

To  welcome  in  the  light; 
And  while  I  clasp  a  well-beloved  hand, 

Let  me  once  more  have  sight 
Of  the  deep  sky  and  the  far-smiling  land, — 

Then  gently  fall  on  sleep, 
And  breathe  my  body  back  to  Nature's  care, 
My  spirit  out  to  thee,  God  of  the  open  air." 

"Amen,"  said  Prescott  reverently. 

He  put  his  arms  about  her  and  she  lay  in  them 
unresisting;  and  for  the  first  time  their  lips 
met. 

Then  they  were  seated  again  on  the  little  throne 
at  the  door  of  the  castle,  his  arms  about  her.  She 
smiled  up  at  him  as  a  child  smiles  through  its 
tears  when  its  heart  is  comforted.  But  for  a  long 
time  neither  of  them  broke  the  silence. 

Finally  Jocelyn  began  to  speak.  Her  voice  was 
raised  scarcely  above  a  whisper,  but  her  words 
were  clearly  audible  in  the  midst  of  the  great 
silence. 

[139] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

"I  have  been  thinking  of  my  childhood,  Pres- 
cott;  and  of  my  marriage — my  other  marriage. 
My  father  died  when  I  was  an  infant;  and  my 
mother,  on  whom  the  responsibility  of  rearing  the 
family  of  six  devolved,  was  an  austere,  self-suffi- 
cient woman,  the  very  type  and  personification 
of  the  Puritan  hosts  from  which  she  sprang.  She 
was  past  middle  life  when  I  was  born,  and  I  don't 
think  I  was  ever  welcome.  But  she  did  what  she 
considered  to  be  her  duty  by  me,  according  to  her 
austere  standard.  I  am  afraid  I  was  a  self-willed, 
impetuous  child,  yet  kindness  could  always  rule 
me.  But  kindness  is  not  the  keynote  of  the  puri- 
tanical idea  of  discipline.  So  the  flint  of  my  tem- 
per was  always  striking  fire  against  mother's 
steel;  and  my  childhood  was  not  a  happy  one. 

"When  I  was  seventeen  Senor  Madero  came 
into  my  life.  They  were  about  to  send  me  to 
college,  and  I  did  not  wish  to  go.  So  I  jumped  at 
the  possible  chance  to  escape  by  marrying  this 
gallant,  handsome  Spaniard.  I  saw  him  but  a 
few  times  before  he  proposed.  He  seemed  fond 
of  me,  and  I  thought  myself  madly  in  love  with 
him. 

"Of  course  my  mother  opposed  the  match. 
She  had  decided  that  her  daughter  should  never 
[140] 


JOCELYN'S  CAVE 

marry.  I  recall  that  she  told  her  dearest  friend 
of  this  decision;  and  when  the  friend  expostu- 
lated with  her,  she  ordered  her  from  the  room, 
declaring  haughtily  that  she  did  not  wish  to  dis- 
cuss her  children  with  a  stranger.  But  the  friend 
took  pity  on  me,  and  did  me  the  very  doubtful 
service  of  providing  me  a  trousseau  and  letting 
me  get  married  at  her  home.  Mother,  of  course, 
refused  to  be  present.  But  she  afterward  became 
quite  reconciled  to  Juan. 

"But  why  should  I  tell  you  all  this  now,  my 
beloved?"  " 

"I  love  to  hear  it,  dearest;  go  on." 

"Well,  there  is  not  much  more  to  tell.  But 
what  there  is  is  very  important  from  my  stand- 
point. Juan  and  I  got  along  well  enough  for  a 
time.  I  think  he  admired  my  independent  spirit, 
and  I  was  proud  of  his  good  looks  and  his  gallant 
manner.  But  one  day  I  found  some  letters  that 
opened  chapters  of  his  history  I  had  never  dreamed 
of  or  suspected.  To  make  a  long  story  short,  I 
learned  that  an  alleged  business  trip  made  by  my 
husband  to  England  had  really  been  spent  with 
a  woman  in  Paris." 

"But  Jocelyn,"  Prescott  interrupted.     "This 
would  give  you  cause  for  divorce." 
[1411 


JOCELYN  WEST 

"It  might  have  done  so.  I  intended  that  it 
should.  I  left  the  ranch  and  went  at  once  to  San 
Francisco,  declaring  I  would  never  return,  but — 
will  you  believe  it — my  Puritan  mother  had  by 
this  tune  become  a  champion  of  my  husband. 
She  urged  me  to  return  to  him;  and  she  made 
things  so  uncomfortable  for  me  that  when  Juan 
finally  came,  full  of  protestations  of  repentance 
and  affection,  I  was  persuaded  to  go  back  with 
him. 

"This  virtual  condoning  of  his  offences,  so  the 
lawyers  assure  me,  bars  me  from  using  his  mis- 
conduct as  a  plea  for  divorce.  I  remained  only  a 
few  days  at  the  ranch  the  second  time,  for  I 
found  that  I  utterly  loathed  the  thought  of  living 
with  him  now;  but  the  fact  that  I  did  return  and 
remained  overnight  doomed  me  to  perpetual 
bondage." 

"Let  us  not  think  about  it  any  longer,  dear 
Jocelyn.  It  is  better  forgotten." 

"You  are  right,  Prescott  dear.  And  now  that 
I  have  told  you  about  it  I  feel  that  I  can  at  least 
dismiss  it  all  from  my  mind  for  the  present.  Prob- 
ably the  recollection  of  it  all  is  a  toll  that  those 
Puritan  ancestors  have  exacted.  But  now  I  feel 
that  the  Spanish  ones  are  demanding  a  hearing. 
[142] 


JOCELYN'S   CAVE 

You  shall  see  me  in  quite  another  mood  presently. 

"I  seem  to  myself  to  represent  two  quite  dif- 
ferent persons  at  different  tunes.  I  have  some- 
times dramatized  my  two  selves,  calling  one  of 
them  'Natura,'  because  of  her  natural,  sponta- 
neous, pleasure-loving  disposition;  and  the  other 
'Aspera/  because  of  her  primness,  prudery, 
puritanicalism — in  a  word,  her  asperity  of  char- 
acter." 

"We  are  all  dual,  or  even  more  complex  in 
character,  my  beloved.  I,  for  example,  have  also 
sometimes  opposed  my  two  selves  one  to  the  other. 
In  particular  I  have  done  so  in  thinking  about 
you.  One  of  my  selves — my  truest  self,  I  like  to 
believe — loves  you  for  your  mental  traits,  your 
spirituality.  Him  I  call  'Intellecto.'  He  is  in 
love  with  Aspera. 

"But  my  alter-ego  entertains  for  you  a  pri- 
meval love.  Him  I  call '  Primitive ' ;  and,  adopting 
your  nomenclature,  he  is  obviously  in  love  with 
Natura." 

"Oh,  that  is  delightful,"  cried  Jocelyn,  spring- 
ing to  her  feet.  "I  feel  as  if  we  had  just  been  in- 
troduced; and  by  way  of  salutation,  Natura  will 
give  Primitivo  a  kiss;  and  Aspera  will  brew  In- 
tellecto  a  cup  of  tea." 

[1431 


JOCELYN  WEST 

She  leaned  over  and  brushed  her  lips  against 
his,  and  sprang  away  laughing. 

"I  am  afraid  that  was  Aspera,  not  Natura," 
he  laughed. 

"Well,  Natura  will  be  with  us  by  and  by;  so 
now  let  us  to  our  tea-making." 

They  made  a  fire  of  some  juniper  limbs  and  the 
roots  of  an  old  cedar,  just  within  the  mouth  of 
the  cave,  where  a  crevice  formed  a  sort  of  natural 
chimney.  The  water  was  soon  boiling  in  the  little 
camp-kettle  which  was  the  only  cooking-utensil 
they  had  brought.  Collapsible  cups  were  put  in 
requisition;  and  the  supply  of  sandwiches  spread 
out  on  a  cover  laid  across  a  projecting  ledge. 
Soon  they  were  partaking  of  the  simple  repast; 
and  moment  by  moment  Jocelyn's  spirits  were 
obviously  in  the  ascendent.  Before  they  had 
finished,  her  morbidness  of  the  afternoon  had 
vanished  altogether. 

Presently  she  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  pointed 
off  to  the  west. 

"Look,  Prescott,  isn't  it  glorious!" 

The  sunset  clouds  were  forming  in  great  masses 

of  crimson  and  purple,  that  matched  the  hues  of 

the  towers  and  battlements  and  cliffs  of  the  canon 

itself,  which  had  taken  on  new  forms  and  become 

[144] 


differentiated  into  a  thousand  new  shapes  as  the 
slanting  rays  of  the  setting  sun  threw  their  peaks 
into  high  relief  and  bathed  their  bases  in  ever- 
ascending  purple  shadows. 

The  lovers  stood  together  far  out  at  the  edge 
of  the  terrace,  and  watched  the  gorgeous  spec- 
tacle in  silence,  but  with  elation  of  spirit. 

"See  how  the  whole  lower  part  of  the  canon 
is  bathed  almost  in  darkness,"  he  said.  "One 
gets  a  more  vivid  sense  of  the  distances  now.  It 
is  a  dizzy  height,  is  it  not?  See  that  vulture  wheel- 
ing about  away  off  there  below  us.  It  is  a  big 
bird,  but  it  is  so  far  down  that  it  looks  no  bigger 
than  a  swallow;  yet  if  one  were  looking  at  it  from 
the  level  of  the  river  it  would  seem  high  in  air. 

Jocelyn  stooped  and  took  up  a  large  piece  of 
stone  that  lay  on  the  terrace.  She  tossed  it  as  far 
out  as  she  could,  and  they  watched  it  fall.  It 
seemed  as  if  a  full  minute  must  have  elapsed  before 
the  falling  stone  was  finally  invisible  in  the  dis- 
tance far  below  them,  on  the  way  to  the  river. 

"I  wonder  just  what  would  happen  if  one  were 
to  fall  over?" 

Prescott  laughed.  "I  suspect  that  one  might 
suffer  a  broken  bone  or  two." 

"Don't  be  flippant,  Mr.  Intellecto.  I  am  aware 
10  [  145  ] 


that  he  would  suffer  not  only  one  or  two  broken 
bones,  but  one  or  two  hundred  of  them — however 
many  there  are — crushed  and  crumbled  into  frag- 
ments. But  what  I  wish  to  know  is,  How  soon 
would  one  lose  consciousness?  Would  one  know 
one  was  falling  all  the  way — during  the  minute 
or  two  that  it  would  take  to  reach  the  bottom? 
That  would  be  frightful." 

"Fortunately  Nature  is  more  kind.  A  falling 
man  loses  consciousness  in  a  few  seconds.  If 
one  were  to  fall  from  here,  one  would  become  un- 
conscious before  the  fatal  journey  had  fairly 
begun.  I  know  a  guide  in  the  Alps  who  fell  a 
thousand  feet  or  so — a  mere  nothing  as  compared 
with  this — and  who  lived  to  tell  the  tale,  thanks 
to  a  deep  bed  of  soft  snow  that  happened  to  claim 
him.  But  he  told  me  that  he  remembered  noth- 
ing except  that  the  rope  broke  and  he  started  to 
fall." 

"Then  if  one  were  to  walk  in  one's  sleep,  and 
fall  from  this  ledge,  one  would  never  even  awaken 
long  enough  to  know  one's  fate?" 

' '  Presumably  not. ' ' 

"It  would  be  an  easy  and  a  pleasant  way  to 
die— Hark!  What  was  that?" 

Both  turned  their  heads,  startled;  for  there 
[146] 


JOCELYN'S  CAVE 

came  echoing  along  the  wall  of  the  canon  the  re- 
port of  a  series  of  sharp  explosions,  like  the  dis- 
charge of  a  repeating  rifle. 
"What  can  it  be?" 

"I  can't  imagine,  for  it  sounded  not  far  away." 

"Do  you  go  and  see,  while  I  make  my  toilet  for 

the  evening — Natura's  toilet,"  she  added  with  a 

merry,  frolicsome  laugh    as  she  darted  into  the 

cave. 


[147] 


CHAPTER  XII 

i 

SUNSET  AND  EVENING  STAR 

As  Prescott  strolled  along  the  ledge,  field-glass 
in  hand,  his  attention  was  attracted  by  a  series 
of  little  clouds  of  dust  that  were  curling  up  here 
and  there  from  the  wall  of  the  cliff  opposite.  His 
eyes  following  down  into  the  chasm,  he  saw  well 
towards  the  bottom — perhaps  three  thousand  feet 
below — a  larger  cloud  seeming  to  indicate  the 
location  of  some  fallen  mass. 

He  brought  his  glass  to  bear  on  this,  then 
raised  it  perpendicularly,  along  the  wall  of  the 
cliff,  from  one  dust  cloud  to  another,  each  evi- 
dently induced  by  the  impact  of  some  falling 
body,  since  they  were  all  in  the  same  vertical  line. 
At  last  his  glass  was  raised  to  the  level  of  the  path 
opposite,  and  there  he  saw  something  that  caused 
him  to  start  and  stand  transfixed. 

"My  God,"  he  gasped.    "It  isn't  possible!" 

He  scrutinized  the  cliff  with  horrified  atten- 
tion. There  was  no  mistaking  the  meaning  of 
what  he  saw.  At  the  point  just  opposite,  where 
[148] 


SUNSET  AND  EVENING  STAR 

the  horseshoe  bend  of  the  cliff  wall  brought  it 
nearest  to  the  ledge  where  he  stood,  the  outjut- 
ting  ledge  that  constituted  the  path  along  which 
he  and  Jocelyn  had  come  that  afternoon  had  been 
fractured — torn  away — and  in  place  of  the  path 
there  now  yawned  for  the  space  of  fifty  yards  or 
so  a  ragged  surface  of  fractured  rock,  as  perpen- 
dicular and  as  impassable  as  the  main  cliff  wall. 

It  was  the  ledge  of  rock  constituting  the  nar- 
rowest part  of  the  path  that  had  fallen. 

The  full  meaning  of  the  frightful  catastrophe 
came  instantly  to  Prescott's  consciousness.  The 
ledge  that  had  fallen  had  been  the  only  possible 
way  of  approach  to  the  cave.  The  yawning  chasm 
that  now  took  its  place  stood  as  an  impassable 
barrier  between  the  cave  and  the  outer  world. 
The  occupants  of  the  cave  were  prisoners. 

Mingled  with  Prescott's  horror  at  the  realiza- 
tion of  this,  came  an  instant  sense  of  wonderment 
as  to  how  the  catastrophe  had  happened.  But 
even  as  he  looked  the  question  was  answered. 
Just  beyond  where  the  fracture  occurred,  the  path 
turned  abruptly  about  the  corner  of  the  cliff,  and 
the  other  narrow  portion  of  the  path  was  visible 
for  some  distance,  following  the  main  line  of  the 
canon  wall. 

[149] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

Now  there  suddenly  appeared  a  series  of  puffs 
of  smoke  running  in  succession  along  the  path  for 
some  distance  beyond  the  bend  in  the  wall — ex- 
actly at  the  narrow  portion  which  Jocelyn  had 
crossed  at  such  reckless  speed. 

Each  puff  of  smoke  was  accompanied  by  the 
tearing  loose  of  a  mass  of  rock  which  was  pre- 
cipitated into  the  depths  of  the  canon. 

In  a  second  or  two  there  came  the  sound  of  a 
series  of  explosions,  like  those  that  had  startled 
Prescott  and  Jocelyn  as  they  stood  at  the  mouth 
of  the  cave.  Evidently  a  series  of  blasting  charges 
of  dynamite  had  been  placed  in  the  path  and  ex- 
ploded in  succession.  As  the  sounds  died  away, 
and  the  smoke  and  dust  subsided,  Prescott  saw 
that  a  second  portion  of  the  path  had  been  oblit- 
erated. 

And  now  on  the  uninjured  portion  of  the  ledge 
beyond  the  location  of  the  explosion,  Prescott 
saw  the  figure  of  a  man — obviously  the  author  of 
the  catastrophe. 

Instantly  he  divined  that  it  was  Juan  Madero. 
Prescott  watched  him  through  the  glass  and  the 
whole  diabolical  plot  was  at  once  clear  to  him. 

Madero  had  followed  his  wife;  had  dogged 
their  footsteps;  traced  them  to  the  canon;  and 
[1501 


SUNSET  AND  EVENING  STAR 

now  had  destroyed  with  a  few  charges  of  dyna- 
mite the  ledge  that  afforded  the  only  possible 
footpath,  thus  making  their  escape  impossible. 

They  were  absolutely,  hopelessly  entrapped. 
Their  arcadian  cave  entombed  them  now  as  inex- 
orably as  if  it  were  the  bottom  of  a  mine  the  en- 
trance to  which  had  fallen  in. 

Prescott  glanced  instinctively  upward  along  the 
expanse  of  the  cliff.  It  rose  above  him  for  two 
thousand  feet,  impassable  as  a  wall. 

Below,  the  descent  was  no  less  precipitous. 
As  Prescott  regarded  the  cliffs  that  now  became 
prison  walls  in  very  fact,  his  heart  alternately 
pounded  tumultuously  and  seemed  to  stand 
still. 

"Good  God,  what  a  revenge!"  he  gasped. 

For  some  minutes  he  stood  there  trying  to  take 
full  account  of  the  conditions.  The  more  he 
thought,  the  more  utterly  hopeless  seemed  the 
situation. 

No  one  had  known  they  were  coming  to  the 
cave,  so  no  one  would  miss  them  or  search  for 
them.  In  all  human  probability  their  plight 
would  never  be  known  to  anyone.  But  even  if 
it  were  known,  and  an  attempt  were  made  to 
rescue  them,  what  could  be  done? 
[151] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

It  would  be  as  impossible  for  anyone  to  reach 
them  as  for  them  to  get  to  the  outer  world.  A 
company  of  engineers  would  be  required  to  build 
a  passable  causeway  across  the  devastated  path; 
and,  even  were  these  at  hand,  Jocelyn  and  he 
would  die  of  thirst  before  the  rescue  could  be 
effected. 

As  he  turned  over  in  his  mind  every  possible 
clue  that  offered  a  chance  of  escape,  and  dismissed 
one  after  another,  the  appalling  conclusion  came 
home  to  him  with  a  force  of  inescapable,  inexor- 
able truth:  Madero's  revenge  was  absolutely  com- 
plete. His  victims  were  doomed  to  death.  The 
cave  was  destined  to  be  the  tomb  of  the  occu- 
pants who  had  come  to  its  door  so  joyously. 

Nor  could  the  execution  of  the  death  sentence 
— however  carried  out — be  long  delayed;  for,  so 
Prescott  at  once  reflected,  they  had  only  a  small 
canteen  of  water,  and  within  twenty-four  hours 
the  pangs  of  thirst  must  begin  to  torment  them. 

But  Prescott  instantly  determined  that  Joce- 
lyn should  not  suffer  thus.  Then  swiftly  came 
the  thought  that  she  must  not  suffer  at  all — must 
not  know.  "Thank  God  I  alone  have  discovered 
this,"  he  murmured.  "She  shall  never  know  it. 
To-night  she  shall  be  happy — supremely  happy. 
[152] 


SUNSET  AND  EVENING  STAR 

She  shall  go  to  sleep  supposing  that  all  is  well  with 
her;  and  before  she  awakens" 

He  shuddered  at  the  thought;  but  his  mind 
did  not  waver. 

Indeed,  this  thought  that  Jocelyn  must  not 
know  now  took  full  possession  of  him,  His  own 
fate  seemed  of  subordinate  consequence,  in  com- 
parison with  the  desire  that  his  loved  one  should 
not  suffer.  He,  too,  must  die,  but  the  last  hours 
of  his  life  should  be  devoted  not  to  regret  or 
lamentations,  but  to  playing  a  part  that  would 
result  in  shielding  Jocelyn  from  knowledge  of  the 
fate  into  which  he  had  unwittingly  betrayed 
her. 

This  thought  uppermost  in  his  mind,  Prescott 
made  his  way  back  towards  the  cave. 

As  he  stood  at  the  point  where  the  bend  in  the 
path  brought  him  to  the  ledge  in  front  of  the 
cave,  he  paused  for  a  moment  and  looked  off  to 
the  west,  where  the  sun  was  just  setting  behind 
the  cliffs. 

It  was  the  last  sunset  that  he  would  ever  see. 
The  thought  came  to  him  with  bitterness,  with  a 
sense  of  revolt  against  the  hardness  of  his  fate. 
Life  had  never  before  seemed  so  sweet  to  him  as 
that  day.  And  now,  in  the  very  hour  of  the  su- 
[153] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

preme  fruition  of  his  desires,  he  was  doomed  to  die; 
to  die  by  his  own  hand. 

And  Jocelyn,  the  being  he  loved  as  he  had  loved 
nothing  else  in  his  whole  world — Jocelyn  must 
die  by  his  hand. 

His  spirit  revolted  at  the  hardness  of  his  fate. 
But  presently  he  straightened  himself,  clenched 
his  fists,  and  set  his  teeth  together.  Yes,  this  was 
hard;  but  he  would  prove  equal  to  the  needs  of 
this  bitter  hour. 

Never  yet  had  he  turned  his  back  to  the  enemy 
or  shown  the  white  feather.  Now  in  this  su- 
preme test  he  would  not  be  found  wanting.  He 
would  carry  out  the  awful  sentence  thus  imposed 
upon  him;  do  it  calmly,  without  flinching. 

And  Jocelyn — Jocelyn  should  never  know. 

As  he  turned  the  corner  bringing  him  to  the 
mouth  of  the  cave,  the  first  star  appeared  just 
above  the  cliff  off  to  the  east.  He  stood  for  a 
moment  gazing  at  it,  and  the  words  of  Tennyson 
came  to  his  lips: 

"'Sunset  and  Evening  Star, 

And  one  clear  call  for  me, 
And  may  there  be  no  moaning  at  the  bar 
When  I  put  out  to  sea.'" 

"No  moaning  at  the  bar."    There  should  be 
[154] 


SUNSET  AND  EVENING  STAR 

no  moaning,  no  note  of  regret.  The  game  was 
played — won  and  lost.  The  end  was  at  hand. 
The  time  had  come  for  a  display  of  courage  and 
not  for  lamentations. 

Some  lines  of  Emerson  came  to  his  mind,  as,  still 
looking  towards  the  sky,  he  noted  the  shining  forth 
of  one  star  after  another: 

"Teach  me  your  mood,  0  patient  stars 

That  nightly  climb  the  distant  sky, 
Leaving  no  trace,  no  futile  scars, 
No  wound  unhealed,  no  fear  to  die." 

"No  fear  to  die."  He  repeated  the  phrase  over 
and  over.  He  had  often  said  that  he  did  not  fear 
death.  He  would  prove  it  now  that  death  was 
imminent.  He  would  put  in  practice  the  lesson 
of  the  stars. 

And  Jocelyn — sweet  Jocelyn — she  must  not, 
should  not  know! 


[155] 


CHAPTER  XIII 

NATURA  AND  PRIMITIVO 

As  Prescott  came  to  the  cave  entrance,  he  made 
a  supreme  effort  to  control  his  manner  and  voice, 
that  he  might  betray  nothing  of  what  he  had  seen. 
Fortunately,  the  cave  was  almost  dark,  for  they 
had  hung  a  blanket  at  the  entrance,  and  the  em- 
bers of  the  cedar  roots  furnished  only  a  faint 
glow. 

But  his  apprehension  was  in  any  event  ground- 
less, for  Jocelyn  was  too  much  excited  to  be  crit- 
ical of  his  appearance  or  words. 

"It  was  some  hunter  up  on  the  cliff,  shooting 
at  a  deer  or  signaling  to  some  one,  I  fancy,"  he 
said  with  attempted  nonchalance.  "Anyhow,  it 
doesn't  concern  us." 

She  accepted  the  explanation  without  seeming 
to  give  it  a  thought. 

"Come,"  she  said,  "let  us  go  out  on  the  ledge 
and  look  at  the  stars." 

Prescott  was  glad  of  the  opportunity  to  collect 
[156] 


NATURA  AND  PRIMITIVO 

his  thoughts  and  formulate  his  plans.  They  were 
silent  for  a  time,  Jocelyn  sitting  with  her  arms 
clasped  about  one  knee,  her  head  thrown  back. 

Presently  he  leaned  softly  over  and  kissed  her 
forehead. 

"Oh,  Prescott,  your  lips  are  cold,"  she  cried 
banteringly. 

"I  am  excited,  dearest;  who  would  not  be,  out 
here  alone  in  the  sky  with  you!" 

"I,  too,  am  excited,  Prescott;  but  I  don't  be- 
lieve my  lips  are  cold.  Let  me  see." 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  threw  her  arms  about 
his  neck.  Hei  sinuous  form  moulded  itself  against 
him  and  his  arms  went  about  her  instinctively.  A 
wave  of  passion  suffused  him,  and  he  forgot  all 
else  but  the  enticing  figure  that  he  held  in  his 
arms.  His  lips  met  hers  and  clung  to  them. 

"Ah,  now  your  lips  are  warm,  dearest,"  she 
laughed.  "Now  release  me.  Let  us  go  into  our 
castle  and  I  will  sing  for  you." 

He  lifted  the  blanket  and  they  went  inside. 

"Put  some  more  roots  on  the  fire,"  she  sug- 
gested. "I  must  have  enough  light  to  see  you, 
my  beloved." 

"With  his  arm  about  her  they  crossed  the  cave. 

"Now  you  sit  at  that  end  of  the  couch,  and  I 
[157] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

will  sit  at  this,  so  that  we  can  see  each  other,  and 
I  will  sing  you  a  song. 

"You  remember  the  poem  you  wrote  me, 
about  the  kiss?  Well,  I  set  it  to  music,  and  I  am 
going  to  sing  it  for  you." 

In  a  low,  sweet  voice  she  began,  and  he  did  not 
interrupt  her  as  she  sang  verse  after  verse.  She 
paused,  however,  as  she  came  to  the  last. 

"Now  give  particular  attention  to  this  verse, 
Prescott  dear." 

Then  she  sang: 

"Yet  I  that  have  striven  to  win  a  name 

Through  many  a  task  that  the  soul  equips 
For  higher  flights — I  would  forfeit  fame, 

I  would  barter  each  prize  of  the  whole  world-game 
For  the  touch  of  one  woman's  lips." 

As  she  finished,  she  crept  forward  along  the 
couch,  and  came  close  to  her  lover,  putting  her 
hands  on  his  shoulders. 

"Did  you  really  mean  the  last  of  that,  Pres- 
cott?" she  asked  earnestly.  "Would  you  really 
sacrifice  everything  for  my  lips — for  me?" 

The  words  "God  knows  I  have  done  so,"  came 
to  his  mind,  but  remained  unuttered.  Instead  he 
said  gravely: 

[158] 


NATURA  AND  PRIMITIVO 

"Most  assuredly  I  would,  my  beloved." 

"You  would  give  up  everything  for  me — and 
do  it  gladly?" 

"Without  a  twinge  of  regret,  my  own." 

He  said  the  words  with  an  attempt  at  jocular- 
ity. But  his  voice  was  very  grave.  Jocelyn 
nestled  closer,  and  his  arms  closed  about  her 
tenderly,  but  for  a  time  he  said  nothing  more. 
He  was  running  over  the  situation  in  his  mind. 
Little  had  he  thought  when  he  wrote  those  words 
that  he  would  ever  be  called  upon  to  pay  the  price 
in  so  literal,  so  tragic  a  sense. 

Could  he  say  now,  to  himself,  that  he  would 
pay  gladly,  without  a  twinge  of  regret?  The 
thing  was  too  new,  too  near,  too  terrible  to  be  de- 
cided. Who  could  weigh  and  evaluate  the  emo- 
tions? 

Let  it  suffice  that  he  would  pay  resolutely, 
without  murmuring,  without  flinching — and  with- 
out letting  Jocelyn  know. 

After  all,  we  face  the  certainty  of  ultimate 
death  every  hour  of  our  lives,  and  give  it  no 
thought.  Death  is  terrible  and  terrifying  only 
when  we  know  that  the  hour  of  its  coming  is  at 
hand.  Why  should  that  make  any  difference? 
"Sufficient  unto  the  day" — he  had  quoted  the 
[159] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

phrase  a  thousand  times.  Could  he  not  live  up 
to  the  tenets  of  his  own  philosophy? 

As  if  Jocelyn  read  his  thoughts,  she  whispered, 
banteringly,  "Why  are  you  so  sober,  so  unre- 
sponsive? Is  not  this  the  hour  we  have  long 
awaited?" 

"I  was  thinking  of  the  future,  dearest." 

"Of  the  future?  There  is  no  future.  To-day 
alone  exists.  What  is  here  and  now  we  know; 
all  the  future  is  a  phantom.  To-morrow  never 
comes;  or  if  it  should  come — what  then?  Is  it 
not  written  'To-morrow  we  may  die'?" 

She  laughed  aloud. 

"You  see  I  give  you  back  your  preachments, 
Mr.  Philosopher.  Oh,  I  have  been  an  apt  pupil, 
have  I  not?  So  to-night  I  will  teach  the  master 
— even  I;  I  will  teach  him  the  art  of  loving. 
What  care  we  for  the  future?  For  us,  now,  there 
is  no  to-morrow.  We  are  here  close  to  the  earth 
and  the  sky — here  together.  We  have  each  other 
— and  all  the  world  is  shut  out  from  us.  Only 
we  two  exist  in  the  world  to-night,  my  beloved; 
only  we  two — Primitive  and  Natura,  the  first 
man  and  the  first  woman.  The  universe  is  ours, 
and  there  is  none  to  dispute  it." 

She  nestled  closer  and  closer  as  she  prattled 
[160] 


on.  Her  cheeks  were  flushed;  her  long  hair  hung 
in  waves  down  her  back;  her  hands  caressed  her 
lover's  cheek,  his  hair;  her  lips  sought  his  again 
and  again. 

Soon  she  had  no  cause  to  complain  of  his  cold- 
ness. With  responsive  impulse,  his  hands  alter- 
nately caressed  the  outline  of  her  figure,  and  folded 
her  in  an  embrace  that  threatened  to  crush  and 
smother  her. 

Yet  even  in  that  moment  the  sobering  thought 
came  to  him  that  this  supple  form  would  soon 
be  cold  and  stark  in  death. 

"Release  me  for  a  moment,  Prescott,  and  I 
will  dance  for  you." 

She  sprang  back,  and  her  figure  was  revealed 
in  the  garish  light  of  the  cedar  embers.  As  she 
began  to  dance,  the  soft  folds  of  her  garment 
floated  hither  and  thither,  alternately  enwrap- 
ping and  unfolding  to  reveal  a  flashing  glimpse 
of  her  limbs. 

As  Prescott  regarded  her,  his  emotions  were 
keyed  to  the  breaking-point.  He  was  alternately 
hot  and  cold.  A  wave  of  passion  succeeded  to  a 
flash  of  apprehension — of  recollection;  and  he 
passed  from  the  heights  to  the  depths  of  emo- 
tional being  in  an  instant. 
11  [ 161  ] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

As  he  regarded  with  the  passion  of  the  lover 
the  glow  of  her  cheek,  the  sparkle  of  her  eyes, 
there  came  before  his  mental  vision  a  counter- 
image  of  the  pallid  visage,  with  staring  sockets, 
into  which  this  beauteous  apparition  was  destined 
to  be  transformed — and  at  his  hands — before  an- 
other night  should  come. 

He  banished  this  unwelcome  vision  with  an 
effort  of  will,  and  gave  himself  over  to  the  sensu- 
ous emotions  of  the  hour. 

"Sufficient  unto  the  day,"  he  muttered  over 
and  over. 

But  scarcely  had  he  banished  the  gruesome 
vision  before  another  came  to  take  its  place.  The 
bed  of  coals  and  flickering  embers  at  the  mouth 
of  the  cave,  which  lit  up  the  face  of  the  dancer 
and  added  to  its  alluring  glow  and  to  the  seduc- 
tive pinkness  of  the  half-revealed  flesh,  cast  also 
a  shadow  that  everywhere  followed  the  sinuous 
figure  like  a  weird  and  contorted  ghost,  fantas- 
tically beckoning  from  the  broken  surface  of  the 
cave  wall  behind  her. 

"Ghosts  and  apparitions — all  my  life  I  have 
denied  them,"  he  whispered  to  himself.  "Yet 
they  always  follow  and  mock  me.  The  Egyptians 
were  right  when  they  brought  the  mummy  to  the 

[162] 


NATURA  AND  PRIMIT1VO 

feast;  had  they  not  brought  him  he  would  have 
come  unbidden." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  gripped  his  hands, 
shut  his  teeth  tightly  together. 

"A  curse  on  the  ghosts  and  mummies,"  he 
muttered.  "Am  I  to  be  their  victim  hi  this  hour; 
I,  who  have  always  denied  and  defied  them? 
No;  I  will  banish  them.  Sufficient  unto  the  day. 
This  is  my  hour,  the  hour.  No  ghosts,  no  appari- 
tions shall  rob  me — shall  rob  us — of  its  full  frui- 
tion." 

He  rose  to  his  feet  with  a  gesture  of  impatience, 
as  if  he  would  challenge  the  ghosts  to  physical 
combat.  Then  he  folded  his  arms,  fixed  his  eyes 
full  on  the  face  of  the  dancer,  and  by  an  effort  of 
will  locked  every  mental  portal  against  the  in- 
trusion of  any  unbidden  ghost. 

The  atmosphere  of  the  night  took  possession 
of  him.  He  felt  himself  alone  in  the  world  with 
Jocelyn — with  Natura.  She  and  he  were  indeed 
the  first  woman  and  the  first  man;  and  this  was 
their  bridal  night.  Surely  she  was  good  to  look 
upon — good  to  possess. 

She  was  poising  before  him  in  one  provocative 
attitude  after  another;  dancing  with  entire  aban- 
don. Now  she  came  close  beside  him,  peering 
[163] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

into  his  eyes  through  half-closed  lids;  her  lips 
parted,  her  hot  breath  fanning  his  cheeks. 

Then,  just  as  he  clutched  at  her,  she  darted 
back,  with  a  gesture  that  allured  even  while  it 
repelled,  and  with  a  little  laugh  that  made  him 
tingle  to  his  finger  tips. 

Slowly  she  came  across  the  cave,  with  body 
swaying  in  long  rhythmic  circles,  her  feet  dragging 
with  a  languorous  motion  that  was  the  very  per- 
sonification of  passion. 

Then  she  suddenly  sprang  forward,  panther- 
like,  her  body  tense,  her  eyes  flashing,  every 
muscle  aquiver,  until  she  almost  touched  him; 
when,  poising,  she  slowly  spread  her  arms  carry- 
ing the  garment  until  her  figure  stood  revealed  in 
all  its  sinuousness,  rigid  yet  yielding.  One  mo- 
ment the  figure  stood  there,  the  chaste  statue  of 
Diana,  a  thing  of  marble.  The  next  moment, 
bathed  in  the  glow  of  the  red  light,  it  was  a  Gala- 
tea come  to  life,  palpitant  with  excitement,  pas- 
sion, expectation. 

Fresco tt's  breath  came  in  gasps;  his  blood  was 
at  fever  heat;  he  caught  the  soft,  yielding  figure 
in  his  arms  and  held  it  close. 


[164] 


CHAPTER  XIV 

ASPERA  AND  INTELLECT© 

It  was  well  towards  midnight  when  Prescott 
suddenly  became  conscious  that  light  was  stream- 
ing into  the  cave.  He  sat  up  and  stared  about, 
for  the  moment  scarcely  realizing  where  he  was. 
He  stretched  out  his  hand  and  found  himself 
alone.  An  instant  later  the  blanket  was  fully 
removed  from  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  and  Joce- 
lyn's  figure  appeared  silhouetted  against  the  moon- 
lit sky. 

Prescott  sprang  to  his  feet  and  hastened  to  her 
side. 

"I  must  have  been  asleep,"  he  murmured,  still 
in  confusion. 

"  Asleep?  I  should  say  you  had.  Why,  for  two 
hours  you  have  been  sleeping  like  a  babe  and  I 
have  kept  ever  so  still  for  fear  of  awaking  you. 
But  when  I  saw  the  moon  shining  through  a  crack 
in  our  door,  I  came  to  have  a  look  at  the  canon 
by  moonlight.  Isn't  it  wonderful?" 
[165] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

"It  is  glorious.  And  to  think  that  we  are  here 
alone  in  the  midst  of  it,  shut  out  from  the  world." 

He  had  put  his  arm  about  Jocelyn,  and  now 
she  felt  a  sudden  spasmodic  clutch  as  he  ceased 
speaking. 

In  his  half-dazed  condition,  the  truth  of  their 
situation  had  been  quite  forgotten.  Now  of  a 
sudden  it  came  home  to  him,  and  a  great  load  of 
apprehension  seemed  instantly  to  weigh  on  his 
heart.  The  eerie  spaces  of  the  canon,  which  at 
first  glimpse  had  seemed  a  fairyland,  now  became 
suddenly  transformed  into  a  ghost-haunted  valley 
of  Despond. 

He  barely  suppressed  a  cry  of  horror.  But  he 
braced  himself  in  time  and,  stooping  over,  kissed 
Jocelyn's  forehead. 

"Oh,  my  beloved,"  he  said,  striving  to  hide 
his  confusion;  "to  think  that  we  are  here 
together." 

"It  is  divine,  Prescott;  and  most  wonderful  of 
all  here  in  the  moonlight.  Doesn't  it  all  seem  far 
away  from  everything?  Surely  there  are  no  other 
beings  in  the  world  but  you  and  me.  We  are  the 
first  man  and  woman,  Intellect©  mio,  and  all  the 
universe  is  ours.  Even  the  moon  and  the  stars," 
she  added  softly,  stretching  up  her  arms. 
[166] 


ASPERA  AND  INTELLECTO 

"And  the  earth  and  the  waters  under  the 
earth,"  he  said  solemnly,  responding  to  her 
mood. 

"Let  us  sit  here  in  the  moonlight,  Prescott  dear, 
and  I  will  sing  to  you  again." 

The  two  sat  on  a  ledge  just  at  the  mouth  of 
the  cave,  where  the  moonlight  fell  full  upon 
them. 

"I  want  to  sing  you  an  old  Spanish  song  that 
I  learned  when  I  was  a  child — long  before  I  knew 
what  it  meant.  It  was  a  weird,  half-funereal  mel- 
ody that  appealed  to  my  romantic  spirit  when  I 
only  half  understood  the  words.  Indeed,  I  think 
I  never  quite  fully  understood  the  words  till  now. 
Shall  I  sing  it?" 

"Of  course  you  shall,  Aspera  mia." 

"I  once  made  a  translation  of  the  words,  and 
I  will  sing  these,  as  you  might  not  understand  the 
Spanish,  and  I  want  you  to  know  just  what  the 
song  says.  It  is  called  'Love  Justifies,'  and  there 
is  a  question-mark  after  the  word  in  the  original. 
You  may  tell  me  whether  the  question-mark 
should  be  there  when  I  am  through." 

In  a  slow  measure  that  was  almost  a  chant, 
Jocelyn  began.  The  words  of  the  song  ran 
thus: 

[167] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

"'Love  justifies; 

Surely  love  justifies,' — 
Half  doubting,  half  in  ecstasy, 
As  if  a  questioning  voice  it  heard, — 

A  fond  heart  cries. 
'Nay  all  too  feeble  is  the  word,' 
Said  one  that  kissed  the  sweet  eyes  blurred 
With  tears:   'Love  glorifies  that  memory; 
Love  sanctifies.'" 

Prescott  regarded  the  singer  with  ineffable 
tenderness.  As  she  finished,  he  stroked  her  hair 
softly  and  exclaimed: 

"In  very  truth  it  is  so,  my  child;  Love  does 
glorify  and  sanctify" 

"But  there  is  another  stanza,  dearest;  listen 
to  it  before  you  decide." 

Again  she  sang;  this  time  in  a  more  plaintive 
tone,  in  an  even  slower  measure,  and  with  an 
almost  mournful  cadence: 

"The  years  abide; 

Murmurs  life's  evening  tide. 
Love  that  erstwhile  did  mask 
As  born  of  heaven,  to  live  for  aye  , 

Long  since  has  died. 
A  heart  that  stranger  is  to  ecstasy 
Clings  to  its  memories  helplessly 
And  hopelessly;  nor  dares  to  ask 
If  love  were  justified." 
[168] 


ASPERA  AND  INTELLECTO 

As  Jocelyn  finished  the  song,  she  slipped  quickly 
from  the  ledge  on  which  they  were  sitting,  and 
knelt  in  front  of  Prescott,  with  her  hands  in  his 
lap. 

"Oh,  Prescott,  will  it  be  like  that  with  us?" 
she  whispered. 

He  held  her  hands  in  his  and  looked  down  into 
her  eyes  devoutly. 

"I  shall  love  you  to  the  last  hour  of  my  life," 
he  said. 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Yes,  darling,  I  am  sure." 

The  tragic  humor  of  the  appeal  and  reply 
went  to  his  heart,  and  his  features  were  drawn 
in  a  tense  grim  smile;  but  she  felt  only  his 
strong  arms  about  her,  and  his  lips  caressing  her 
hair. 

"To  the  last  hour  of  your  life,"  she  repeated. 
"Swear  it,  Prescott.  Swear  that  it  shall  be  so." 

"I  swear  it." 

For  some  minutes  she  was  silent.  Prescott 
gazed  at  her  devoutly,  his  heart  filled  with  strange 
emotions. 

Presently  she  raised  her  head  and  smiled  up  at 
him. 

"I  know  that  I  am  foolish,  Prescott  darling; 
[169] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

but  you  will  forgive  me  my  folly  this  once,  will 
you  not?" 

She  nestled  beside  him. 

"Oh,  Prescott,  I  was  so  frightened." 

"Frightened,  my  child?" 

"Yes,  Prescott,  while  you  were  asleep.  I 
seemed  to  fear  my  own  mind,  my  own  shadow. 
I  had  a  haunting  dread  of  some  impending  evil 
that  seemed  all  the  more  terrible  because  it  was 
ill-defined.  It  seemed  to  me  that  every  one  who 
would  ever  see  me  anywhere  would  know.  That 
is  nonsense,  I  understand,  yet  I  could  not  escape 
the  feeling;  and  after  all,  apparitions  conjured 
up  by  the  mind  are  our  worst  enemies  because  we 
can  nowhere  escape  them." 

"Reasoned  like  a  philosopher,  dear  Jocelyn. 
Now,  like  a  philosopher,  you  must  go  one  step 
further  and  lay  the  ghosts  your  imagination  has 
summoned." 

"I  have  tried  to  banish  them,  but  they  refuse 
to  go.  And,  for  a  time,  they  were  very  real  and 
utterly  terrifying,  I  assure  you.  I  lay  awake  a 
long  tune,  while  you  were  sleeping  like  a  child, 
and  my  thoughts  taunted  and  jibed  at  me,  say- 
ing such  things  as  I  cannot  bear  to  recall,  much 
less  to  repeat." 

[170] 


ASPERA  AND  INTELLECTO 

"Why  did  you  not  awaken  me,  dear  Jocelyn? 
I  would  have  put  my  arms  about  you,  and  kissed 
away  your  fears."  . 

"I  dared  not  do  even  that.  For  in  my  fright 
it  seemed  to  me  as  if  you  also  might  taunt  me  if 
I  appealed  to  you." 

"Jocelyn!" 

"Forgive  me,  Prescott.  I  know  better  than 
that,  of  course,  now  that  I  am  fully  awake;  but 
in  the  dark  there  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  quite 
friendless,  quite  alone  in  the  world,  and  that  all 
things  and  all  men  must  be  leagued  against  me. 
It  was  terrible." 

"Jocelyn,  dearest  Jocelyn!  Let  us  have  done 
with  such  morbid  reminiscences.  See!  This  is 
my  answer.  I  hold  you  in  my  arms,  I  kiss  your 
eyes,  your  cheeks,  your  lips;  and  I  call  you  now 
what  my  heart  has  long  wished  to  call  you — wife." 

He  repeated  softly:  "Jocelyn,  my  companion, 
my  wife — now  and  for  all  time." 

"Oh,  Prescott,  I  know  it  cannot  be;  yet  your 
words  bring  consolation.  They  enable  me  al- 
most to  forget.  For  the  moment,  at  any  rate, 
they  exorcise  the  ghosts. " 

Then  she  nestled  back  and  gave  a  sigh  of  con- 
tentment. 

[171] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

"There,  dearest,  forgive  me,  won't  you?  I 
will  try  not  to  have  any  such  foolish  thoughts 
again.  I  know  no  harm  can  come  to  me.  Hold 
me  close,  and  let  us  watch  for  the  good  fairies  to 
come  tripping  up  out  of  the  canon.  I  will  try  to 
believe  that  they  are  guarding  us  to-night." 

Again  Prescott  felt  that  strange  clutching  at 
his  heart;  but  he  only  held  her  closer  and  stroked 
her  cheek  and  hair,  while  his  thoughts  played  sad 
tricks  with  him  in  spite  of  his  resolve  to  think 
only  of  the  present. 

For  an  hour  or  so  they  sat  thus,  scarcely  speak- 
ing. But  at  last  she  said: 

"I  am  afraid  I  am  getting  sleepy,  dearest." 

"Well,  it  is  time  to  sleep,  my  own."  He  arose 
without  letting  her  out  of  his  arms,  and  carried 
her  into  the  cave  and  to  the  couch.  Then  he  lay 
beside  her  and  held  her  in  his  arms. 

"To  think  that  we  are  here  together,  Prescott. 
I  am  glad;  yes,  I  am  truly  glad.  I  have  not  been 
so  happy  since  I  was  a  child;  and  you  must  not 
mind  if  my  happiness  seems  tinged  with  sadness; 
great  happiness  always  is,  I  think.  I  could  almost 
wish  that  I  might  die  to-night;  for  it  seems  as  if 
there  could  never  be  another  quite  so  happy. 
There  will  be  so  many  things  to  harrass  one  when 
[172] 


ASPERA  AND  INTELLECTO 

we  get  back  into  the  big  world  of  people.  But  I 
only  ask  that  when  the  time  does  come,  I  may  die 
in  your  arms.  I  only  ask  that  you  will  go  on 
loving  me  as  long  as  I  live;  and  that  in  my  last 
hour  you  may  hold  me  in  your  arms,  as  you  are 
holding  me  now." 

"It  shall  be  so,  dearest;  I  swear  it." 

"I  believe  you,  Prescott.  I  believe  that  my 
prayer  will  be  answered.  And  now,  good  night, 
darling;  I  am  so  sleepy." 

She  nestled  closer,  her  cheek  against  his,  their 
arms  intertwined. 

Soon  her  soft  breathing  told  that  she  was  sleep- 
ing as  placidly  as  a  child. 


[173] 


CHAPTER  XV 

PRESCOTT'S  VIGIL 

Physicians  and  psychologists  are  fond  of  assur- 
ing us  that  death  is  a  wholly  natural  phenomenon; 
and  that  for  the  most  part  dying  men  sink  to 
rest  with  as  little  apprehension  and  as  slight  men- 
tal disturbance  as  accompanies  falling  asleep. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  strange  and  varied  thoughts 
come  to  the  mind  of  a  man  who,  in  perfect  health, 
is  condemned  to  die  a  death  of  violence.  Doubt- 
less each  individual  condemned  man  passes  the 
last  night  of  his  life — in  so  far  as  he  is  not 
sleeping — with  a  different  play  of  emotions  and 
thoughts,  in  accordance  with  his  past  life,  his 
temperament,  and  his  belief  or  non-belief  in  a  life 
beyond  the  grave. 

Prescott  Knight  was  a  man  of  exceptional 
mentality;  of  overmastering  will-power;  of  ac- 
knowledged bravery.  His  life  had  been  in  no 
very  marked  respect  different  from  that  of  thou- 
sands of  other  men  of  culture  and  education,  who 

[174] 


PRESCOTT'S  VIGIL 

have  gone  forth  to  see  the  world,  and  who  have 
tested  most  of  its  illusions. 

He  was  a  man  who  had  lived  a  strictly  law- 
abiding  life.  Unless  his  infatuation  for  Jocelyn, 
with  its  denouement,  be  so  accounted,  he  had  in- 
fringed no  law,  nor  imposed  on  any  man's  right. 
But  his  ethical  sense,  strongly  developed  as  it 
was,  had  no  religious  foundation.  He  was  one  of 
the  few  men  who  have  utterly  freed  themselves 
from  superstition;  who  frankly  call  themselves 
atheists;  and  who  have  not  even  a  glimmering 
doubt  that  this  life  is  the  only  life  to  which  human 
beings  are  destined. 

These  facts  stated,  the  nature  of  his  medita- 
tions during  the  hours  of  that  last  night,  while 
Jocelyn  lay  asleep,  may  be  fairly  judged,  at  least 
as  to  their  main  features.  There  was  no  element 
of  doubt  in  his  mind  that  when  his  life  and  that 
of  Jocelyn  were  blotted  out,  they  would  be  blotted 
out  forever.  He  had  no  belief  in  any  supernat- 
ural power  to  whom  he  might  appeal  for  aid  here 
or  mercy  in  the  future.  His  spirit  rebelled  at 
first  against  the  thought  of  death,  simply  because 
he  felt  that  it  would  be  good  to  live,  now  that  he 
had  found  a  companion  whose  affection  might 
give  life  new  meanings. 

[175] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

But  a  mind  long  trained  to  yield  to  the  inevi- 
table led  him  now  to  accept  the  fate  that  had  been 
doled  out  to  him;  to  accept  it  without  moaning 
or  malediction.  Not  without  regret,  surely;  but 
with  the  resignation  of  a  philosopher. 

The  thought  that  was  uppermost  in  his  mind 
after  Jocelyn  had  fallen  asleep,  was  one  of  thank- 
fulness that  he  had  managed  to  carry  through  his 
part  without  letting  her  so  much  as  suspect  their 
danger — nay,  their  doom.  Not  that  he  had  a 
doubt  that  she  would  have  met  it  bravely,  hero- 
ically; but  to  spare  her  the  agony  of  apprehension 
seemed  to  him  the  finest  tribute  his  love  could 
pay  her.  Now  this  had  been  accomplished. 

Jocelyn's  slumber  was  profound  and  undis- 
turbed. She  had  fallen  asleep  with  anticipations 
of  awakening  to  a  happy  morrow.  It  was  a  hard 
fate  which  had  decreed  that  he,  who  loved  her 
better  than  anything  else  on  earth,  must  be  her 
executioner.  But  the  only  morsel  of  comfort  that 
remained  came  with  the  knowledge  that  she  would 
die  in  her  sleep. 

At  first  he  was  disposed  to  consummate  the 

tragedy  at  once.    But  there  came  over  him  the 

desire  to  look  once  more  upon  the  face  of  his  loved 

one — an  absurd  desire,  he  told  himself;  for  what 

[176] 


PRESCOTT'S  VIGIL 

could  it  matter  since  both  their  lives  were  to  be 
blotted  out  together?  Yet  this  desire  sufficed  to 
make  him  delay.  He  decided  to  wait  for  the 
morning.  Even  should  he  fall  asleep  he  felt  cer- 
tain that  he  would  awaken  in  time,  as  he  was  a 
life-long  early  riser,  while  he  recalled  that  Joce- 
lyn  had  said  that  she  usually  slept  till  late. 

These  trivialities — yet  very  practical  and  im- 
portant from  his  present  standpoint — occupied 
Prescott's  mind,  and  were  weighed  and  considered 
as  calmly  as  if  they  concerned  a  mere  matter  of 
the  time  of  breaking  camp  to  begin  an  ordinary 
day's  journey,  instead  of  the  terminating  of  two 
human  lives. 

Having  decided  to  wait  till  morning,  he  let  his 
thoughts  wander  whithersoever  they  might.  At 
times  his  mind  seemed  calm  and  clear;  again  full 
of  fantastic  conceptions. 

He  reviewed  his  whole  life  in  retrospect.  Inci- 
dents of  his  boyhood  that  had  probably  not  been 
recalled  for  many  years  came  before  his  mental 
vision  with  the  clearness  and  realism  of  the  events 
of  yesterday.  In  particular  there  seemed  to  linger 
in  his  mind  the  recollection  of  the  first  corpse  he 
had  ever  seen.  It  was  that  of  a  playmate  who 
had  been  drowned.  He  saw  the  body  now,  as  it 
12  [177] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

had  been  raised  from  the  watery  depths — lank 
and  pale  and  ghastly. 

His  own  face  would  look  like  that  to-morrow 
— his  face  and  Jocelyn's.  They  were  to  die  at 
dawn;  he  must  be  his  own  executioner  and  hers. 
They  must  die  just  when  life  had  begun  to  be 
worth  living — but  there!  Let  such  thoughts 
pass. 

He  took "  up  again  the  retrospect  of  his 
life.  But  instantly  there  flashed  into  view  a 
picture  of  the  funeral  ceremony  over  the  boy 
who  had  been  drowned.  This  suggestion  of  the 
church  recalled,  by  a  natural  association  of 
ideas,  the  Sunday-school  which  he  had  attended 
in  common  with  all  the  other  boys  of  the  village. 
A  medley  of  texts  came  to  his  mind;  all  of  a 
sinister  tenor. 

"An  eye  for  an  eye";  "Whatsoever  ye  sow,  the 
same  shall  ye  reap";  "Can  you  gather  grapes 
from  thorns  or  figs  from  thistles?"  "The  wages 
of  sin  is  death." 

The  wages  of  sin  is  death.  He  was  about  to 
pay  that  fatal  wage.  Yet  had  he  sinned  in  any  such 
vital  sense?  His  mental  verdict  repudiated  the 
idea,  almost  angrily.  Had  he  not  desired  to  make 
Jocelyn  his  wife?  Had  she  not  been  bound  by 
[178] 


PRESCOTT'S  VIGIL 

foolish  laws  that  his  intelligence  repudiated? 
Was  she  not  the  victim  of  cruel  circumstances 
rather  than  a  sinner? 

But  why  follow  up  that  strain  of  thought? 
What  after  all  is  death?  Is  it  not  something  that 
comes  to  sinner  and  saint  alike?  And  even  so, 
is  it  after  all  an  evil?  Byron's  cynical  lines  came 
to  his  mind.  He  repeated  them  softly: 

"Count  o'er  the  pleasures  thou  hast  known, 

Count  o'er  thine  hours  from  sorrow  free; 
And  know,  whatever  thou  hast  been, 
'Tis  something  better  not  to  be." 

Then  the  equally  pessimistic  lines  of  Shelley 
rehearsed  themselves  in  his  mind,  and  he  whis- 
pered them: 

"Where  nothing  is,  and  all  things  seem, 
And  we  the  shadows  of  a  dream — 

It  is  an  eerie  thought,  and  yet 

Pleasant  if  you  consider  it, 
To  think  that  death  itself  must  be, 
Like  all  the  rest  a  mockery." 

A  bitter  mockery,  perhaps;  yet  after  all  as- 
suredly a  mockery. 

How  little  we  regard  it  as  it  concerns  the  beings 
[1791 


JOCELYN  WEST 

of  the  past.  Does  anyone  feel  compunction,  for 
example,  about  disturbing  the  remains  of  an 
Egyptian  mummy? 

Or  consider  the  fossil  creature  whose  bones  he 
had  noted  projecting  from  the  walls  of  this  very 
cave.  Groping  along  the  walls  with  his  hand  he 
could  touch  it.  The  name  some  one  had  given 
the  beast — Pterodactylis  lamarckiana — came  into 
his  mind.  The  creature  of  whose  skeleton  it  was 
a  part  had  died,  perhaps,  half  a  million  years  ago. 
But  beyond  peradventure,  when  it  had  lived,  life 
had  been  dear  to  it;  to  the  beast  itself,  its  own 
life  was  the  one  great  desideratum;  its  own  death 
the  one  great  central  world  tragedy. 

What  more  did  his  own  death  matter?  Pres- 
cott  asked  himself.  Half  a  million  years  from 
now,  perchance,  some  naturalists  might  find  his 
bones — his  bones  and  Jocelyn's — in  the  strata  of 
the  sometime  canon;  and  a  moment  of  surprise 
and  pleasure  of  discovery  would  be  the  only 
emotion  evoked. 

But  that  thought  did  not  serve  for  long  to 
banish  the  feeling  of  tension  from  his  heart,  as  he 
faced  the  tragedy  the  hour  for  which  came  mo- 
mentarily nearer. 

But  pshaw!  Had  he  not  the  power  of  will  to 
.[180] 


PRESCOTT'S  VIGIL 

banish  such  thoughts  and  forget  all  that?  He 
would  see. 

So  he  strove  to  forget  everything  except  the 
salient  fact  that  Jocelyn  was  lying  in  his  arms 
asleep;  Jocelyn  whom  he  loved — who  loved  him. 
They  had  pledged  to  live  each  for  the  other;  to 
love  and  cherish  each  other  as  if  they  were  man 
and  wife.  Nay,  in  the  fullest  and  best  sense  they 
were  man  and  wife.  For  all  the  future  he  would 
be  true  to  her.  He  would  give  no  thought  to  any 
other  woman;  would  never  for  an  instant 

He  was  startled  into  full  consciousness  again 
by  the  soft  brushing  of  a  bat's  wing  against  his 
face.  But  only  for  a  moment.  He  drew  a  corner 
of  the  blanket  over  Jocelyn's  face — the  bat  must 
by  no  chance  injure  her.  He  caressed  her  cheek; 
softly  pressed  his  lips  to  hers;  murmured  "my 
darling,"  and  fell  asleep. 


H81] 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  DAWN 

The  first  glimmerings  of  dawn  were  penetrating 
the  cave  when  Prescott  awoke.  Already  it  was 
day  on  the  plateau  above. 

The  half-light  penetrating  the  gloom  of  the  cave 
had  perhaps  been  the  stimulus  that  brought 
before  the  subconscious  self  of  the  sleeper  a 
vision  that  stood  out  now  so  clearly  before  him 
that  he  was  at  first  not  quite  fully  aware  that  it 
represented  only  the  imagery  of  dreamland. 

He  had  seemed  to  be  wandering  along  the 
banks  of  a  beautiful  river,  which  he  recognized 
as  the  little  stream  that  flowed  through  his  native 
village.  It  was  springtime.  The  air  was  fragrant 
with  odors  of  the  blossoms  of  the  wild  crab-tree. 
The  glades  were  embowered  with  the  huge  bou- 
quets of  the  dogwood. 

Crackles  in  flocks  were  serenading  in  the  tree- 
tops;  robins  chanted  and  bluebirds  carolled;  off 
in  the  woodland  he  heard  the  staccato  call  of  the 
[182] 


THE  DAWN 

fiicker.  Flocks  of  ducks  were  flying  up  the  centre 
of  the  stream.  A  water-ouzel  plunged  from  the 
shore. 

But  all  these  delightful  souvenirs  of  spring 
served  only  as  the  background  of  his  thoughts; 
for  their  central  theme  had  to  do  with  the  beau- 
tiful girl  that  walked  by  his  side.  She  was  very 
young;  not  more  than  fifteen;  just  about  his 
own  age,  he  reflected.  He  seemed  to  have  known 
her  from  childhood;  but  not  till  recently  had  he 
come  to  think  of  her  as  different  from  all  the 
other  girls.  Now  he  saw  that  she  was  superla- 
tively beautiful,  entrancing,  lovely.  Her  cheeks 
were  made  to  be  caressed,  her  lips  to  be  kissed— 
if  only  he  dared. 

But  he  did  not  dare — at  first.  They  held  hands, 
however,  as  they  strolled;  and  the  girl's  eyes 
laughed  up  into  his,  and  he  laughed  in  return, 
from  very  gladness. 

Presently  they  came  to  a  grassy  bank  in  a  little 
glade  in  the  woodland,  where  the  sun  cast  sprangly 
shadows,  and  the  air  was  redolent  of  springtime 
odors.  His  companion  sat  down  amidst  a  bed  of 
violets,  while  he  gathered  for  her  a  huge  bunch 
of  bluebells.  She  seemed  altogether  enticing,  as 
he  came  close  beside  her  to  hand  her  the  flowers. 
[183] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

And  she  smiled  back  at  him  in  the  most  bewitch- 
ing way  as  she  thanked  him. 

As  their  hands  touched,  a  feeling  of  primeval 
desire  came  into  his  soul.  He  could  not  release 
the  hand,  and  he  awkwardly  dropped  the  flowers 
in  the  girl's  lap.  Then  they  both  laughed;  and 
she  blushed;  and  he  was  conscious  that  his  own 
cheeks  were  tingling.  But  a  mutual  impulse 
seemed  to  impel  their  faces  nearer  and  nearer 
together,  each  looking  into  the  eyes  of  the 
other. 

And  then  his  arms  went  about  her  and  their 
lips  met  and  clung  in  a  kiss.  And  he  murmured 
over  and  over,  "Oh,  Jocelyn,  I  love  you." 

And  at  that,  Prescott  Knight  awoke— here  in 
the  cave;  awoke  to  find  his  lips  pressed  to  those 
of  the  real  Jocelyn;  his  arms  about  her. 

He  could  just  make  out  the  outline  of  her  face 
as  he  now  very  carefully  drew  back  a  little,  and 
half  arose  on  his  elbow  to  regard  her.  It  was  the 
face  of  the  girl  of  his  dreams,  with  all  the  glow 
of  youth;  with  all  the  enticing  softness  and  ro- 
tundity of  contour;  with  the  same  long  lashes, 
the  same  bewitching  curve  of  the  lips. 

But  the  eyes  were  closed;  his  beloved  was 
asleep.  So  he  moved  very  cautiously  as  he  slipped 
[184] 


THE  DAWN 

from  the. couch  and  stood  above  her,  caressing 
her  hair,  and  half  expecting  to  see  a  pillow  of 
violets  and  bluebells  about  her  head. 

He  stood  thus  for  a  moment  or  two,  looking 
down  in  adoration  on  the  sleeping  face,  before  a 
sense  of  the  realities  flashed  into  his  mind.  Then 
he  started,  clenched  his  hands,  and  felt  a  gripping 
at  his  heart. 

"Am  I  awake  or  dreaming?  "  he  half  whispered. 
"Is  what  I  recall  a  reality  or  a  nightmare?" 

He  looked  slowly  about  the  cave;  came  for- 
ward and  stood  at  the  entrance,  catching  a  glimpse 
of  the  gilded  clouds  above  the  rim  of  the  canon 
off  to  the  east. 

He  was  wide  awake  now;  yet  for  a  moment  or 
two  he  grasped  at  the  thought  that  what  he  so 
vividly  and  painfully  recalled  of  the  tragic  inci- 
dents of  the  day  before  was  only  a  mad  dream. 
He  even  stepped  out  on  the  ledge,  and  made  his 
way  swiftly  to  the  corner  whence  the  path  across 
the  horseshoe  became  visible. 

The  point  opposite  was  still  bathed  in  purple 
shadows,  and  at  first  he  could  not  make  out  dis- 
tinctly the  contour  of  the  path.  So  he  hoped 
against  hope.  But  even  as  he  looked,  the  sun 
came  above  the  rim  at  last  and  a  gleam  of  light 
[185] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

shot  along  the  cliff,  and  seemed  to  focus  on  the 
wall  where  the  path  was  hewn. 

Where  it  had  been  hewn! 

For  a  glance  now  showed  that  the  path  had 
been  obliterated;  a  chasm  yawned  where  it  had 
been. 

The  recollection  of  the  catastrophe  was  no 
dream,  no  nightmare,  no  mad  freak  of  the  imagi- 
nation. It  was  stern,  terrible,  inexorable  reality. 

As  Prescott  saw  that  last  glimmering  ray  of 
hope  take  flight  he  stood  for  a  moment,  dazed; 
then  he  realized  that  the  time  had  come  for 
action. 

He  turned  instantly  back  to  the  mouth  of  the 
cave.  As  he  did  so,  his  eyes  swept  the  amazing 
panorama  of  turrets  and  minarets  and  facades  of 
rock,  just  taking  on  the  glowing  reds  and  opals 
of  the  morning.  But  he  scarcely  noted  this  or 
anything. 

For  a  moment,  though,  his  attention  was  fixed 
on  a  vulture  that  was  soaring  about  almost  on  a 
level  with  the  ledge  where  he  stood.  The  wings 
of  the  great  bird  of  ill-omen  alternately  flashed 
white  in  the  sun  and  silhouetted  black  against 
the  haze  of  the  distant  cliffs. 

The  gruesome  thought  came  to  Prescott  that 
[186] 


THE  DAWN 

before  another  hour  the  bird  might  be  feasting 
on  his  flesh — his  flesh  and  Jocelyn's.  He  winced 
involuntarily,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  turned  his 
face  away,  and  put  out  his  hand  as  if  to  repel  so 
repulsive  a  thought. 

Then  his  eyes  swept  across  the  vast  abyss,  to 
rest  for  a  moment  on  the  cliff  beyond,  only  half 
emerged  from  the  gloom.  A  sense  of  his  own 
littleness  came  to  him,  and — by  some  strange 
freak  of  the  brain — a  conception  of  the  vast 
stretches  of  time  that  had  been  required  to  carve 
the  great  canon  out  of  solid  rock  flashed  into  his 
mind. 

Man  had  not  begun  his  slow  climb  from  the 
status  of  the  primate  when  the  river  first  began 
cutting  into  the  rocky  surface.  Since  then  un- 
told thousands  of  generations  had  come  and 
gone — always  aspiring,  loving,  and  hating — cling- 
ing ever  to  life  and  fleeing  from  death. 

From  death!  The  word  brought  him  back  to 
the  present,  to  the  sense  of  haunting  apprehen- 
sion that  held  him  in  its  grip.  The  terrible  real- 
ity, for  an  instant  banished,  bore  in  on  his  half- 
dazed  consciousness. 

What  mattered  it  that  all  these  generations 
had  died,  each  in  its  turn?  Did  that  make  it 
[187] 


JOCELYN  WEST 

easier  for  him  to  die?  No;  each  must  face  death 
for  himself,  by  himself,  alone. 

Alone,  and  yet  not  alone.  For  was  not  Jocelyn 
with  him? 

The  thought  brought  him  fully  to  his  senses. 
What  if  Jocelyn  were  to  awaken !  That  must  not 
be. 

He  turned  back  into  the  cave  where  the  light 
was  already  pretty  clearly  penetrating. 

There  was  no  time  to  lose. 

Softly  he  approached  the  couch  and  bent  over 
the  sleeping  form.  Cautiously,  tenderly,  as  a 
woman  mothers  her  babe,  he  took  the  supple, 
yielding  figure  in  his  arms. 

He  raised  her  slowly,  gently,  that  she  might 
not  arouse.  For  a  moment  it  seemed  as  if  she 
would  awaken;  but  she  only  turned  and  nestled 
closer  against  his  bosom. 

Cautiously  he  tiptoed  towards  the  mouth  of  the 
cave.  As  he  came  into  the  full  light,  his  eyes 
were  fixed  devoutly  on  the  face  of  his  loved  one. 
He  put  his  lips  to  hers,  and  her  lips  responded, 
even  as  she  slept. 

Now  he  stood  at  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  his 
eyes  never  raised  from  the  face  that  rested  on 
his  shoulder.  He  pulled  the  blanket  closer  about 
[188] 


THE  DAWN 

the  sleeper,  partly  to  shield  her  face  from  the  full 
light — she  must  not  awaken;  partly  that  her 
body  might  be  closely  enwrapped — that  would 
protect  it  a  little  longer  from  the  vulture! 

"Jocelyn,  I  love  you,"  he  murmured, 

He  came  forward  to  the  very  verge  of  the  ledge. 
An  instant  he  paused,  to  take  a  firmer  hold  on 
his  fair  burthen.  Then  he  put  his  lips  again  to 
hers,  and  holding  her  in  a  farewell  embrace,  he 
leaped  far  out  into  space. 

As  a  meteor  falls  from  the  skies,  seemingly  with 
the  speed  of  light  itself,  the  two  forms,  blended 
in  one,  darted  down — down — down  into  the  well- 
nigh  fathomless  depths  of  the  abyss. 

No  eye  but  that  of  the  vulture  witnessed  the 
tragedy.  The  great  bird,  as  it  soared,  noted  the 
flash  of  the  falling  bodies;  and  peered  far  down 
into  the  depths.  A  scarcely  visible  spot  of  red — 
in  reality  a  Navajo  blanket — marked  the  resting- 
place  of  the  mangled  bodies,  a  full  mile  below. 

For  a  few  minutes  the  vulture  seemed  not  to 
alter  the  plane  of  its  flight.  Then  it  began  to 
circle  expectantly  downward  in  great,  leisurely 
spirals. 


[189] 


A     000110203     7 


